Hold Me in This Wild, Wild World
by YoureMyTicket
Summary: Aramis hesitated to get into the subject, but it was something he'd always wonder at the monastery. "How is she? And the Dauphin?" Try as he did, not a day went by where they did not cross his mind. (Extending and adding scenes to season 3. Part five of the "Fortunate To Be Loved By You" series.)
1. Spoils of War

_I renounced that life when I joined the monastery_

Leaving Feron and his threat, Porthos, Aramis, and Athos went to the garrison and were met with a smiling Monsieur and Madame d'Artagnan. After the three of them greeted Constance with hugs and kisses on cheeks-and after Aramis apologized for missing the wedding-they cleaned themselves up before sitting down to have supper together.

Talking for a couple of hours, they caught up on some of the things that had happened over the past four years; Aramis' time at the monastery, Constance at the garrison, and the other three's time at the front. Aramis could tell though that the others were trying to keep the conversation from straying into dark territory when talking about the more difficult times. He would notice the far away look in his brothers' eyes when reliving a battle where they suffered heavy losses, or when Constance was vague about the Red Guard antagonizing the Musketeer cadets. He himself chose to focus more on the children he had been in charge of, telling endearing stories about their escapades, and skipped over how tempted he would get to just go down to the French camp and rejoin his brothers.

With heads leaning against hands-or leaning against Constance's shoulder in d'Artagnan's case-and eyelids weighed down with tiredness, they decided to clear the table and say their goodnights. Athos went to his bed in the captain's office, d'Artagnan to the bed he now shared with Constance, and Porthos to his old bed. Constance though, showed Aramis to his new room.

"I'm afraid your room's been given to someone else since you left."

Aramis put a hand over his heart and gasped. "You mean you didn't preserve it as a shrine to me?"

Constance rolled her eyes but smiled. "Good to know you haven't changed much."

He grinned. "I don't need all that space anyway. I am coming from a monastery after all. I'm sure whatever you have prepared for me will be lavish in comparison."

Once they came into the room, Aramis set down the linens and Constance lit a few candles.

Unfurling the sheets to start making the bed, Aramis shot a glance over to Constance, who came to stand at the other end. "So, you're no longer working at the palace."

"No," Constance replied while taking care of the opposite end of the bed. "There was a lot of change with Tréville moving to the palace, Athos taking the regiment to the front, and all the new cadets. I volunteered to help run the garrison for a little while, at least in the beginning, but Tréville thought I was handling it well and I wanted to stay on so…Officially, I'm in charge of the garrison mess, but I help where it's needed." She turned to face him, but her eyes did not meet his. "The Queen was understanding of course and let me go."

"Of course." Aramis was quiet for a moment and then added, "But I'm sure you still see each other."

The corners of Constance's lips lifted while she nodded. "Though not as much as we'd like."

Aramis hesitated to get into the subject, but it was something he'd always wonder at the monastery. "How is she? And the Dauphin?" Try as he did, not a day went by where they did not cross his mind. He'd wonder how big his son would be, if he had learned to walk yet, to talk, and how proud Anne must be (and if it saddened her that he could not be there to see how much their son was growing). Then there were the nights where he did not fall asleep right away and just laid there, alone, remembering how it felt to have her in his arms and how she'd said she'd never regret it.

Constance lightly sighed and sat down on the bed. "The war has her wishing for the defeat of her family and her homeland, and the King...I don't think he sees her much. It's all taking a toll on her, I'm sure, but you know her, she tries not to let it show and carries on, does what she can to try and make things better. The Dauphin keeps her going and puts a smile on her face."

Aramis sat down next to her. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his thighs, and interlocked his fingers. "And how does the King treat him?" He was saddened to hear of a distance between Anne and the King, that their relationship didn't seem to have fully healed after Rochefort had been taken down. Louis probably didn't trust her as much anymore because of what that despicable man had told him and especially since they were now at war with Spain. He had been prepared for the possibility of Anne and Louis having fractures in their marriage, but he hoped that Rochefort's accusations hadn't also negatively affected the King's relationship with the Dauphin.

"He dotes on him." Constance was quick to assure him, correctly discerning what he was worried about. "I think His Majesty's been spending more time with him as he's gotten older. Maybe it's because of his mother dying last year. Perhaps it made him want to feel closer to his son, or it made him think that he should be teaching the Dauphin more about being a king." Constance shrugged.

Aramis stared down at the floor, considering what Constance said. He was admittedly relieved Marie de Medici would not be around to meddle in his son's life. She had almost been as bad as the Cardinal; scheming to take baby Henry and use him to regain power for herself. But if her death caused the King to care more for his son, he would take it as a blessing, and say a prayer for her soul.

"He actually brought him here a few months ago to show him where 'Papa's special soldiers' lived and trained. Tréville accompanied them."

"Really?" Aramis looked up at Constance and leaned back in surprise at finding out his son had come and walked around the garrison. Earlier at the palace he had a similar thought about his son walking down the same corridors he was, but to think of him at the garrison, the place Aramis had called home for so long, was something else. "Did he enjoy it?

"I think so. He's quiet and reserved, like the Queen, but he opened up more as he was shown around and got to see some sparring."

"He likes that?"

"Mhm. And horses. The Queen has said that he likes to play soldier and hear stories about heroic knights." Constance laid her hand on his. "He's a sweetheart, Aramis," She told him earnestly, her tone becoming lighter as she continued. "Though I hear he can be quite stubborn when he wants to be, but that's to be expected considering how stubborn his parents are."

Aramis softly chuckled at her teasing. "I prefer to call it 'persistence.'"

Constance rolled her eyes but smiled at him. "He's also got quite a bit more hair now," she went on, "but he still looks like a little cherub with the most tempting cheeks." She pinched Aramis' cheek to make her point, eliciting laughs from the both of them.

"Thank you, for telling me this," Aramis told her once their laughter died down. Constance only gave him a sad smile and a nod of her head in response.

Standing up, Aramis waved towards the door. "I won't keep you from your husband any longer, go on, I'll finish making the bed."

Constance stood up and stepped over to him, giving him a kiss on the cheek before saying, "Welcome back, Aramis," and leaving.

Laying down on the bed minutes later, Aramis put a hand behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, his mind busy painting a new portrait of his son.

When he had been given the assignment to watch over the orphans, he thought God was punishing him, making him care for a group of children when he could not take care of his own son. But he had quickly realized the children needed him, and that he could care for them when he could not care for his son.

Not only did he come to greatly care for the children, they turned out to be more of a distraction than a reminder of the son he left behind.

There were times though, when he would look at little Vincent, who was around the Dauphin's age, and wonder if his son was the same height or taller or shorter. The last time he had seen his son he had wisps of blond hair, but he didn't think it would have grown straight like Vincent's. No, both his own hair and Anne's curled, so it might be more like Pierre's. And when he would look at Marie he'd wonder if his son had a favourite toy, one that he carried around and would have to be tucked into bed with him like Marie and her Dolly.

If left alone with his wonderings for too long the not-knowing would start to eat away at him and leave him starving for just a glimpse of him; to grab a horse and then wait outside the palace gates, just to see what he looked like, to see that he was happy.

He had considered leaving the monastery many times, especially in the beginning when the war started. He worried about not being there for the people he loved. He had left comforted in the knowledge that his brothers would still be there to watch over Anne and his son, but then they were called off to war and he became more worried for their safety out on the battlefield.

It had been hard to turn them away when they came to Douai, but he could not forsake his vow so easily and he was only beginning to repent for all the hurt he had caused to those close to him, most of it being because he was trying to protect them. He convinced himself that they would be better off without him.

But what Porthos had told him earlier...He should have been there for them nonetheless.

Even knowing that though, he didn't regret staying. The children had needed him. He had needed time to process all that had happened with Anne, with Marguerite, with Rochefort. And now he knew for certain that he was not meant to be a monk, living in seclusion in the countryside. No, he was meant to be here, in Paris, with his family.

* * *

Historical background/inspiration:

-Marie de Medici died about 10 months before Louis did

-"With his mother's encouragement, he [Louis XIV] had shown fascination for...military exercises. He loved to beat on drums as soon as he was able to hold the drumsticks, and when he was five years old, he began to play 'soldier' with a little troop of children of honor gathered around him" - Ruth Kleinman, _ Anne of Austria_


	2. The Hunger

_I didn't realize you were here_

Anne walked into her son's room to find him sitting on the floor with his governess and playing with his toy soldiers. "Ready for bed, darling?"

"Mama, can I play longer? Please?"

"If you play longer then that means no story, you still have to go to bed at the same time, all right?"

Louis nodded vigorously, causing some of his hair to fall in front of his eyes, and eagerly went back to the battle he was staging.

She could hear voices coming from the next room. Stepping closer and looking past the open doors into her husband's bedroom, she could see Tréville standing with his back to the fireplace, talking to Louis, who was sitting in one of the chairs. She saw Louis' hand reach out for his wine glass on the table next to him, but it froze midway. Tréville must not have very good news then.

Whatever it was, she would have to find out later.

With a slight nod of her head, Anne dismissed Madame de Sénécey, and took her place on the floor opposite her son. Oohs and ahhs and oh noes ensued as Louis staged quite a merciless attack on her Spanish army.

She put up more of a fight in the next battle, though still let him win in the end, and after she warned him the next battle would be the last, she asked him how his most recent riding lesson went.

"Papa says I'm a natural," he told her proudly before launching his attack.

She smiled at him. "Of course you are, it's in your blood."

Louis' eyebrows knitted together and he looked up at her quizzically. "Do you know how to ride a horse?"

"I do. I used to go riding a lot when I was a little girl, but not so much anymore." Perhaps she should take it up again, and then once Louis is more experienced, the two of them could go together, get away from court for a bit.

Looking down at the fallen soldiers, she picked one of them up and examined the gold figure standing tall. She could not help but think of her soldier and how she rode with him when they were fleeing Gallagher and his men.

Initially, their flight on horseback had her jostling against him, her teeth clanking around in her head while she held onto his horse's mane and saddle for dear life. But once he had wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her more firmly against him, they quickly found their rhythm and she worried considerably less about being unseated.

Leaving the convent with him had been a much more comfortable and enjoyable ride, despite the brief sunshower. He had given her his hat when it started raining, and she had kept it on after the rain stopped to help hide her identity, but she soon returned it though because she kept hitting his face with the brim and she had caught him sticking his neck out to see around it. He quickly told her it wasn't a problem, but she placed the hat back on his head anyway. And with the hat out of both their ways, she had found herself leaning closer and closer to him until she was fully pressed against his chest with her head resting on his shoulder. At the same time she could feel his own arms becoming more relaxed as they went on, with his right arm curling around her back and hip, and his left hand resting on his thigh, his knuckles brushing against her leg.

She had felt so safe and content that she allowed herself to close her eyes and drift off into a light sleep, secure in the knowledge that he would never let her fall.

"Your father is a great horseman too," she heard herself say, still looking at the figure in her hand.

Time had dulled the ache, but there were moments like this where she would get lost in memories and long to see him again, to feel his warmth. It was so easy to imagine him there on the floor with them, enthusiastically playing along, narrating each movement and making battle sounds to their son's utter delight. So easy to envision tucking their son into bed together and kissing him goodnight before Aramis led her to their room and loved her so tenderly.

"Well well well, another glorious victory for the French I see," Louis suddenly said, making her jump. He was standing in the doorway, Tréville behind him.

She collected herself. "Indeed, Sire. Darling," she said, turning back to her son, "help me pick these up. Remember, you have to take care of your soldiers."

Letting little Louis direct her in where to put the infantry, the cavalry, and the cannons, they soon had them all off the floor and lined up on the table.

"Well done, General. Go and say your prayers."

While Louis went and knelt at his little prie-dieu, she walked over to her husband and Tréville, who were looking on.

"Is everything all right?" she asked in a low voice.

"What? Oh, yes, yes, just some unrest in the city. Tréville is on the case." Louis looked over his shoulder. "Tréville, I won't keep you from your work. Good night."

Tréville's eyes flickered over to her, and there was something unspoken behind them, but then he bowed and walked away.

She turned to her husband. "What's going on in the city?"

"Just some stolen grain, nothing to concern yourself with. Tréville and the um...cadets are investigating it, putting those boys to good use for once."

She actually would have liked to hear more about it, but she just nodded and went to tuck in Louis, who was now settling into bed.

"Mama, I'm not tired, can I have a story?"

"The deal was more playtime instead of a story, and kings must keep their words."

"Well I made no such deal," Louis said behind her.

"It's too late now-"

"Oh, what's a few more minutes," he waved her off. "If you need to retire, my dear, you may go."

Not wanting to argue in front of their son, and knowing it was one she would not win, Anne gave in. "Very well, Sire, thank you."

She leaned in and kissed little Louis on the forehead and said then said her goodnites. As she approached the door she heard whispering and then little Louis giggling. She looked over her shoulder and saw Louis sitting next to him on the bed, rubbing the boy's forehead with the palm of his hand. When his eyes met hers, his grin dimmed and he lowered his hand while he wrapped his other arm around their son's shoulders.

"So, what kind of story would my son like to hear?"

* * *

**A/N: Season 3 costume designer Hayley Nebauer had two outfits noted on her Anne sketches for this episode, one of which was a night scene, so this is what I think it could have been like (and why Louis and the Dauphin acted the way they did the following morning)**

**Historical background/inspiration: ****"His [Louis XIV] favorite toys were military also. Pride of place went to a complete army—including infantry, cavalry, and artillery—created for him in silver by a goldsmith from Nancy. That became an heirloom, passed onto his own son" - Ruth Kleinman, _Anne of Austria_**


	3. Brothers in Arms

_Now it feels like forever_

She wanted so much to go to her rooms and scream into one of her pillows, but she couldn't. She couldn't leave her son out here with Gaston. And she couldn't let her feelings for Aramis affect her so. She was supposed to have gotten over him, accepted that the love they shared would only be a memory, and a dream of what could have been.

But he wasn't supposed to come back either.

When Louis told her that Aramis had returned with the others, she almost didn't believe him. Had she heard right? What had changed? Why now?

She had sought confirmation from Tréville afterwards. He was uneasy about telling her, but he explained how the four musketeers came to be reunited and that Aramis had chosen to return to Paris with them, whereupon Tréville reassigned them to help keep order in the city.

And then here he was, at the palace, watching their son, talking to her. And the person who spoke back to him...she hardly recognized her own voice. When she allowed herself to imagine his return, to envision their reunion, none of the scenarios played out as it just had. But things were different now, she was not the same person from when he left, and neither was he, she supposed. It wasn't just his uniform or his hair that had changed, but his bearing as well. Those last few days before he left, she could see he was wracked with guilt and worry. He blamed himself for putting them all in danger, and he was determined to protect them. He shouldered all that responsibility even though it was not all his to bear, and it visibly weighed him down.

Seeing him now though, she realized that he did not go to the monastery just to protect her and their son, but to heal. Perhaps not all of that weight had been lifted off his shoulders, but enough for him to return, and it made her hate herself even more for having talked to him like that. To push him away, to stop him from seeing his son, from even talking about him after being so far apart, she felt like a monster. She could hardly meet his eyes after she saw him looking at her with such disappointment.

As she heard Gaston's voice though, she was reminded of what was at stake. They couldn't afford Rochefort's accusations resurfacing. Gaston may have kissed Louis' ring and made proclamations of brotherly love, but she knew he would seize any chance to take the throne, including becoming the heir again.

Taking a deep breath, she turned and started walking towards Gaston and her son. She watched as Gaston reached out one of his hands, the tip of Louis' sword following it, ready to fend off its attack. Suddenly though, Gaston's other hand shot out from his side to catch Louis by surprise, but just as quick was Louis' sword, whipping around to stop the threat. Meeting its mark, Gaston yelped in pain and clutched his wrist as he took several steps back.

His hands turning into fists at his side, her brother-in-law then advanced on her son. "You little-"

"Gaston!" She called out. "Are you hurt?"

Immediately straightening, Gaston turned away from Louis. "Of course not! I barely felt it."

Louis ran over to her. "Mama! I didn't mean to hurt Uncle, his hand moved very fast and I-"

"I saw," she soothed, "Uncle Gaston tried to surprise you but you caught him. You're not just strong, you're quick too, and that is a very good thing."

"It is?"

"Mhm, all the better to protect me." She knelt down on the grass in front of him. "You're my brave knight, and you won't let me fall into Uncle Gaston's clutches, will you?"

Eyes widening as understanding dawned on him, Louis jumped around to face Gaston, shield raised and sword held aloft to protect his lady mother.

MMMMMMMMMM

The four of them were sitting in Athos' office when Brujon came in and handed Athos a message. Looking at the seal, Athos quirked an eyebrow. "From Governor Feron." He opened it. "Gaston is to be brought to the Bastille."

"Is that it?" Porthos asked with a hint of disbelief.

"A light punishment for what he did," Athos agreed, "but at least he'll be kept under guard now and unable to cause any more damage." He stood up. "Porthos, d'Artagnan, the two of you will go to the palace and handle the transfer. Aramis, come down to the yard and spar with me, you need more practice."

Aramis met Athos' gaze. He knew what he was doing but he didn't object to it because he didn't want to go to the palace either. It had hurt to realize how much of his son's life he missed, how much he would continue to miss out on. And Anne...he didn't want to add to her difficulties. It had broken his heart to see her so torn, to struggle to keep her emotions in check and act so formal.

Although he was dripping with sweat by the time they finished, he ended up being truly grateful for the invitation to spar. Athos pushed him from the start of their first bout, making him focus on their blades and their movements only, replacing his melancholia with the craving to prove that his skills hadn't completely gone away despite his four years at the monastery.

His temperament had lightened considerably by the time Sylvie arrived and he had walked off, but then once in his room he was left alone with his thoughts again. He had joked about who Sylvie had come to see, but as with their kiss the other day, his heart was not in it. He had left it behind with everything else the day he went to fulfill his vow to God.

"Was that Athos I saw flirting with a beautiful woman before?" Constance asked, peeking her head around the doorway.

"Yes, I decided to pass on the romantic hero mantle to him so that I could spend more time brooding," he answered, sitting heavily on his bed.

She stepped into the room, a bemused smile on her face. "Brooding about what exactly?"

Bringing his sword over, he braced it against his thigh and started to slowly run a cloth up and down the blade. "You didn't say how tall he is."

Constance was quiet for a few seconds. "You saw him?"

"A little more than a glimpse, out on the lawn. His mother didn't let me stay long."

Closing the door, she came over and sat next to him. "Aramis…"

He didn't even bother to look over and see the sad eyes he knew she was giving him. "I barely got to see his face meanwhile that snake Gaston was right there playing with my son."

"Well there's your reason. She can't risk the Duke seeing you with them and getting any ideas."

"Of course, I shouldn't have expected…" He trailed off, shaking his head. Constance was right, but it still hurt.

"Oh, come on, don't sit there stewing, out with it," she prodded. "What did you expect, or what did you want, is what I should ask."

"To talk to him. For her to be pleased to see me again." He had thought for a second that she might call their son over and properly introduce him, that he would get to see his son up close and hear his voice and maybe make him laugh all the while Anne looked on, smiling fondly at them.

"She is. Believe me, Aramis, you should have seen how her face lit up knowing that her musketeers were back. But knowing that, watching your son from a distance, it has to be enough."

"I know, it-it is." He sighed. "Thank you, Constance, you always know how to slap some sense into me, even without me feeling the back of your hand," he told her, and gave her a half-smile.

"Good, and let's keep it that way. Now, speaking of stewing, get that shirt off, it's soaked and I'm making a trip to the laundry."


	4. The Queen's Diamonds

_Her choices were always for the sake of her children_

"Aramis, may I steal her away?" St. Pierre asked from the steps.

As Aramis watched Pauline join her husband-to-be, he could not help but dwell on his parents, as he had been since running into her yesterday.

His mother had wanted what was best for him, and to her that meant getting him out of that brothel and sending him away. After his father finally found them, he took Aramis back to his home, to live with him and his family. Aramis' step-mother, half-brother and sister weren't bad people, but he never stopped feeling like an outsider with them.

Over time he pieced together the whole story of how his parents, Hugo and Leonora, met and fell in love, and how they became separated once their relationship was found out. Both of his grandfathers were cruel men. His mother's father disowned her once he realized she was pregnant, and when she went to tell Hugo, his father threatened to hurt her unless she left so that the marriage he had arranged for his son could go through (and the dowry that would come with his new daughter-in-law could be collected). Leonora had known from the bruises she had seen on her lover's body how serious the threat was, and after being forced to write a letter telling Hugo not to come after her, she ran away, writing a second letter telling him the truth and where she was once she found a room at the brothel.

His father had never gotten that second letter though, and they both thought the other had truly abandoned them. It was not until Aramis' grandfather died and his father was going through his belongings that he found the second letter. Despite Leonora's strict instructions, it had been intercepted before it ever reached its intended recipient.

By the time the letter was found though, and his parents were reunited, his father had started his own family, and his mother had other children to take care of, so it was agreed Aramis would go and live with his father to be better educated and provided for, and become a respectable man.

They came to think he should become a priest, and he was not completely opposed to the idea, but then he met Isabelle, and history repeated itself.

His father had been disappointed, but he supported him, and arranged the marriage with Isabelle's father. When she lost the baby and her father took her away, he tried to console Aramis and suggested it was for the best, that he should let her go and return to his path to priesthood, but it had only incensed Aramis. He was determined not to make the same mistakes as his father. He would not give up and he would not abandon her. He begged Isabelle's father to tell him where she was. He begged his father to help him find her, but he wouldn't, perhaps knowing that Isabelle didn't want to be found. Aramis told him he would look for her on his own, and that he would go and see his mother too. That was when his father told him she had died, years ago.

It had been the last straw for Aramis and he left anyway. Ultimately, his search was fruitless, but it led him to Paris, the musketeers, Adele, and finally Anne.

And then his past came back to haunt him.

He found Isabelle, only to learn that she had deliberately kept herself from him. And then she died in his arms after he failed to protect her.

When he explained his relationship with Anne to Porthos, that she had needed him, he neglected to admit that he had needed her too. He had needed to be told that he was brave and honourable and kind, that any woman would be fortunate to be loved by him. He needed to be loved just as she did.

But then those words came to haunt him too.

He had always told himself that he would have been stronger than his father if he had been in his place, if it had happened to him. He would have fought for his family and kept them safe from anyone who dared to harm them.

And when he learned that Anne was carrying his child, he did swear to protect them, and he did fight to keep them safe, but like Isabelle he also put them in danger. He entered a half-hearted relationship with Marguerite and used her to see his son. He was not brave, or honourable, or kind then, and she was not fortunate to be loved by him.

Then, in order to protect Anne and his son, he vowed to let them go, to leave them.

After four years of keeping himself away, he returned to Paris, to them, but they could never be a family. He and Anne had to keep their distance, act like there was nothing between them, all for the sake of their child.

MMMMMMMMMM

She watched the musketeers escort that Bonnaire man out, relieved that this farce was over with and that Henrietta Maria would be going back to England, successful in getting her diamonds and her money. She felt for her sister-in-law and the trials her family and her country were going through, but France was fighting its own war and despite what Louis said, they were not secure in the love of their people.

Some of their own veterans had recently threatened rebellion over mistreatment and indifference from their King. The treasury was running low on money, food was becoming scarce, people were being forced from their homes. How much love and understanding would the people have for their King if he had done more to support his sister, diverted funds meant to protect and feed them to another country?

Love would not sustain them, and a king who did not put his people first, who did not care, perhaps should not be king anymore. And what danger would her son be in then? No, she was relieved Louis stood his ground and would see his sister off only having had assisted her in the recovery of the diamonds and the money already made from them.

On a more personal note, it had annoyed her how Louis' siblings could come to see him, including that traitorous Gaston, but none of hers ever could. And Louis never allowed her to go to them. Even when her brother, Ferdinand, died a little more than a year ago, Louis would not give her permission to go to the funeral or see either of her remaining siblings, whether they were official visits or not. They were at war with Philip, and her sister's husband, the new Holy Roman Emperor, was an ally of Spain.

She hadn't had the chance to see any of them since she left Spain, even before the war, and she feared she never would.

Like his father, Louis had always disliked Spain and its people. It was France's top rival, standing in the way of its quest for supreme power over Europe, over the world. He started getting rid of her Spanish retinue soon after she had arrived, and wanted very little to do with her family, despite his own sister, Elisabeth, having married Philip as a part of the same marriage alliance. Louis only tolerated having a Spanish wife because of politics, and because she was a prize that would make him and his descendants more impressive and respected.

Descendants that, so far, did not-and would not-actually carry Bourbon blood, and gave her another reason to want Henrietta Maria to leave as soon as possible, for upon meeting her nephew, Henrietta Maria had commented at one point on how much the Dauphin took after his mother and...how little he looked like his father.

It had made Anne's blood freeze in her veins. But before either she or Louis could say anything, Henrietta Maria had added, "Except for the eyes, of course. And the Medici chin, thankfully."

Anne knew that her son having any Medici traits was impossible (unless Aramis had some distant relation), and she was quite sure the phrasing was meant to be a slight against her and her family, but she was thankful for it nonetheless. She also renewed her thanks to God that both Louis and Aramis had brown eyes. Two vastly different kinds of brown, but Henrietta Maria had obviously never looked into Aramis' warm, soulful eyes. Eyes that could convey so much passion, so much emotion. Eyes that you could get lost in.

She caught herself seeking them when the musketeers had brought the thief in, but for whatever reason, Aramis had not accompanied his brothers. She told herself it was for the best; neither Louis or Henrietta Maria would have the chance to study him while still pondering the Dauphin's looks, and she wouldn't have to sit there, fighting to suppress her aching heart.

* * *

**A/N: Imma be real with y'all...I Did Not know what to do with them in this chapter**

**Historical background/inspiration: **

**-Ferdinand died in November of 1641, a few months before Louis XIII died**

**-After Anne left Spain, she did not see any of her siblings again except for Philip once, more than forty years later**

**-Louis started sending Anne's Spanish attendants back to Spain two years after their marriage, with the rest going back in the years that followed (despite attempts from Anne's father to postpone her total abandonment). Louis is also said to have told his physician as a child that he did not like the Spanish but "I like the Spanish girl a lot" -Elizabeth Wirth Marvick, _Louis XIII: The Making of a King_**

**-The Habsburg Jaw became a notorious side effect of the inbreeding that went on in Anne's family (and ultimately caused it's downfall). Anne got away with only a slightly protruding lower lip and, thanks to her mother pushing for a marriage to Louis instead of one of Anne's Austrian relations, two healthy sons (though Anne then had the dauphin marry Philip and Elisabeth's daughter, ****Maria-Theresa****, who was therefor his cousin twice over, and of their six children, only the eldest, the Grand Dauphin, survived to adulthood)****  
**


	5. To Play the King

_She's mine!_

"I can't bear this spectacle any longer," she said as she descended the dais steps, leaving before this ridiculousness continued.

It was all too much. The size of the party. Louis' selfishness and complete lack of empathy; for his people, for Feron, for her. There was a riot over grain just months ago and here they had towers of food. And on top of it all, a dangerous prisoner who's already killed several people since his escape could be on his way here.

Yet Louis insisted this party go forward in all its grandeur. There was no question of scaling it down, not for the cost, nor for the threat to everyone's safety. He nearly lost his temper when Tréville suggested the party be postponed.

And throughout it all, she didn't know why. Why did this party have to happen today? Why did it have to be so memorable? Why was he making their subjects swear their loyalty? Why this birthday? Seven was the age princes stopped having a governess and were given a male tutor, so she could maybe see doing all this for Louis' seventh birthday, but that was next year, and there were no plans to hire a tutor earlier, not that she knew of, at least.

Turning down the corridor towards her apartments she thought back to her son's past birthdays.

His first birthday had been only a couple months after Aramis left and that one had been a big celebration, especially for her. She knew how often babies didn't make it to their first birthdays, and to have her own son reach his, especially after such a tumultuous year, was truly a blessing. Louis was also free from Rochefort's hold and was now about to lead France to glory and dominance over Spain, so spirits were high among the members of court.

The day after the party though, Louis had approached her and asked if they could resume their marital relations, saying he wanted to go back to the way things were between them before Rochefort. She had accepted, seeing an opportunity in it to rebuild and strengthen their bond, and because she would have loved to have another child. But not only did she fail to give her son a sibling, but she failed to give Louis another child, or a child at all, as she had begun to suspect that he still doubted that he was the father of her son.

As the months passed by with no results, she suggested that they both should have taken more time to recover from what they'd been through; he had been poisoned and she had hardly eaten anything since Rochefort's attack, leaving her weak and possibly unwell. There was also the fact that sleeping with Louis was emotionally difficult because of all she knew now. She knew that Louis had allowed Lemay and Constance's (near) executions to go forward. She knew he would have had Aramis killed. She knew he was going to let Rochefort kill her. And God knows what he would have let Rochefort do with her son. Even once she managed to get past all that, then Rochefort would break through the barriers she had put up in her mind and take Louis' place on top of her.

She had attempted to explain the latter issue with Louis, but he cut her off, telling her it was all right and that they would take a break for a while but almost two years passed by before they started trying again.

He had started to turn colder towards her by then, but remained polite and united with her in public, and although Louis' second birthday was a smaller celebration, it was still a fairly large and joyous party, with everyone enjoying watching the Dauphin totter around, wanting to explore everything he laid eyes on.

It was then several months before her son turned three that Gaston wrote to his brother, telling him he wished to meet his nephew and be there for his birthday. Soon after they learned though that Gaston had been gathering an army and was planning to usurp Louis. Thankfully he was stopped and banished into exile before he could get his hands on his brother or his nephew, but it had deeply unsettled them all, and that was when Louis approached her again to sleep with her. It had been easier to lay with him then; she was lonely and starved for contact, for distraction, and they were both driven by the same desire to push Gaston further away from the throne.

But it only made her miss Aramis more, and she was left feeling empty and used. And when her womb continued to be empty as well, Louis became even more cold and distant with her, so when it came time for their son's fourth birthday it was a much more cordial affair. Louis was there but not entirely present, spending most of the time talking to Tréville and the nobles about the war.

And last year's party had been an even quieter celebration. The year had started off on a bad note with Louis breaking the news of her brother Ferdinand's death, telling her frankly, "Your brother is dead," and then calling Treville to follow him before he could attempt to give her more information beyond the date of death. The war made it difficult for communications to reach their destinations and it took months for her to find out more details on how he died, bringing with them a fresh wave of grief when she finally received them shortly before her son's birthday. The war itself had also taken a bad turn and Spain had recently strengthened its relationship with the Holy Roman Empire with a marriage arrangement between the crown prince and her sister's daughter, all of which only increased Louis' animosity towards Spain and her.

When Marie de Medici died a couple months later though, it hit Louis surprisingly hard and he softened towards her then, if only a little, allowing her to comfort him and taking up her suggestion that he spend more time with the Dauphin.

Now her son was six and as she entered her antechamber she found herself thinking back to what Aramis had said about seeing his son again. It must have been so jarring to have left when Louis was still a gurgling infant, not even a year old yet, and come back to a boy who was halfway to the age of ten. She had watched their son take his first steps, had taken turns with his governess and nurses to soothe him when his first teeth came in. She was the one who taught him how to swim and say the Lord's Prayer. Aramis didn't get to be there for any of that.

And now he will continue to be forced to watch from the sidelines, forced to come to his son's birthday party today, but be banished to the perimeter, to be an invisible observer, at least to everyone else. To her, he stood out like a beacon, drawing her gaze and making all the people standing around them fade into a grey and foggy haze. Seeing him there made her breath catch in her chest, made her forget what she had been talking to Tréville about, all she could think about were his eyes and how they never left her.

Sighing, she took the tiara out of her hair and placed it on the chair next to the window. Catching her reflection, she looked down at the gown Louis had her wear. Along with having his son's outfit match his, he wanted them all to be dressed in white, the color of the House of Bourbon, and she could not help but wonder if it was done in part as a reminder to her; she was his wife, and she belonged to him.

MMMMMMMMMM

Aramis grunted when he hit the ground, and hissed at the hot stinging pain coming from the left side of his face.

Having turned as they fell so that he wouldn't land on top of Anne and hurt her, he released his left hand from her arm and, after moving his sword handle out from under him as it was currently digging into his side, propped himself up to cover her with his body in case Borel still tried to attack her.

"Stay down," he told her through gritted teeth, trusting his brothers to keep them from harm and stop the threat.

When a gunshot sounded he felt Anne jump beneath him and he tightened his grip on her to reassure her that he was there. After hearing the impact of a body hitting the ground, he soon saw Porthos at his side and felt the touch of his hand on his. He met his brother's eyes before Porthos directed his attention to Anne, telling her she was safe now.

As he and Anne started to push themselves up, he paused to see Borel lying motionless a few feet away and then Anne's back hit the side of his face, causing a flash of burning pain. He put the back of his thumb to it and saw a streak of blood when he pulled it away. Thankfully it didn't seem to be a lot, so the bullet must have just nicked him.

"Aramis?" Anne turned towards him on her knees. Her eyes widened when they took in the cut. "Oh God, Aramis, you're bleeding."

"It's nothing," he quickly said, and accepted Porthos' proffered handkerchief to put against his wound. "Are you hurt?"

"No." She shook her head and lowered her raised hand. "No, only shaken."

"Majesty, are you all right to stand?" Porthos asked, holding his hand out to her.

Anne looked at Aramis with concern for several more seconds before disconnecting their gazes and turning to take Porthos' hand. Once she was standing, Porthos helped him to his feet as well.

"How was it that Borel got you?" Aramis asked, trying to speak out of one side of his mouth and not move his jaw so much and pull at the torn skin. Porthos had said something about her not being in her quarters instead of at the party. Had she been unwell?

"I had gone to my room to lie down I...I needed a break from the party. When I woke up...he said he had returned for me and that he would kill the impostor king." She took a shuddering breath. "I convinced him to search the grounds first, away from the party, and hopefully to where you were." Her eyes flickered over to him briefly before looking to the side.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, Your Majesty," Athos said, stepping closer to them. "But it was good of you to try and keep him calm and lead him out here."

Aramis nodded in agreement. How terrifying it must have been for her to wake and find a man with a gun proclaiming to be her true husband.

"Let's get you inside," Athos continued. "The King will want to know that you're safe."

After giving a slight nod, Anne took a deep breath and began to follow Athos back inside. Aramis went to follow after her, but noticed Porthos looking past him. He turned to see d'Artagnan crouch over Borel's body and close his eyes. He looked sorrowful and Aramis felt for him; he knew d'Artagnan felt guilty for endangering the royal family, but he also knew that he had wanted to help the troubled former soldier.

"Come on, d'Artagnan, we'll make sure he gets a proper burial," Porthos assured him.

D'Artagnan stood up and walked over to them. "You all right?"

"A graze," Aramis answered, and put his free hand on d'Artagnan's back to gently guide him away.

The three of them caught up to Anne and Athos as they entered a room outside the main party hall.

"I'll go inform the King and Tréville," Athos declared before walking away.

They stood there in silence until Anne turned to him, eyeing the cloth he held to his cheek. "Shouldn't you see to your injury?"

"It can wait," he said, stepping closer. "I would like to see Your Majesty safely returned to the King first." He didn't want to leave her yet, and a part of him wanted to see how the King would react to hearing that his wife was almost killed in her own home after he insisted this party go forward. He wanted to see how much he cared.

"You don't have to…"

As Aramis glanced up to meet her eyes, he heard footsteps and they both turned their heads to see the King walking in, flanked by Athos and Tréville. With one final look, he and Anne turned to face them. Lowering his hand from his wound, he bowed along with his brothers.

While they waited, he had imagined a reunion similar to when Anne returned from her trip to Bourbon-les-Eaux; for the King to go up to her and clasp her hands, thankful that she was all right. But hearing the indignation in the King's voice when he asked "What is this?" made Aramis dig his nails into his palm.

He was truly taken aback, literally and figuratively, when the King sniped at him. A man had gotten into his wife's rooms, tried to kill her, and would have come for him next, and he was more upset about him standing next to Anne.

The King then asking if Anne was unharmed and sending for a physician kept his rising anger at bay, and Anne making sure that His Majesty knew she was safe thanks to the musketeers made his heart swell, but seeing the King raise his hands in repugnance and give a scathing look before walking away set his teeth on edge. Was he annoyed over this? Did he think this an interruption he wished he hadn't been bothered with?

Once the King was out of sight, with Tréville following after him, Aramis looked over to Porthos and found him looking unimpressed with the King's behavior as well.

"Would Your Majesty like us to escort you to your apartments?" Porthos prompted.

"That won't be necessary," Anne answered, turning to them. "I'll have my ladies go up with me and put me back to sorts so that I can return to the party."

"You were just attacked," Aramis argued.

"My guests don't know that and I don't want them to. Nor does my son. I should be with him."

He nodded, he could not deny her that. "Please, wish him a happy birthday from the musketeers."

Anne gave him a sad smile. "I will."

"Then by your leave, Majesty," Athos suggested, starting to bow.

"Why don't you let the physician tend to your wound?" Anne looked pointedly at Aramis, who had the handkerchief back against his cheek.

"We wouldn't want to disturb the celebration any more than we already have," Aramis replied, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He had hoped to see his son, even for a second, but he knew after the King's reaction to him simply being there that he should not overstay his welcome.

"We have Constance, Your Majesty, she'll take good care of him," d'Artagnan added.

"I'm sure she will. Very well, I won't keep you here any longer. You may go with my utmost thanks."

Bowing, Aramis once again found himself in awe of her strength and grace, but at the same time deeply wished he could take her into his arms and give her a reprieve from having to be so strong and selfless all the time.

Once they returned to the garrison, Constance helped him to clean up his wound and make a poultice for it. As she gathered the leftover supplies, Porthos entered the room carrying two cups. After signalling Constance to leave the wine bottle, he started to pour some into his cup.

"Did you save that handsome face of his?" Porthos asked Constance.

"Hope so," Aramis interjected. "I have a reputation to uphold. There's a difference between being a handsome rouge and carving board."

Constance huffed at their banter and gave a final instruction for them to take it easy before leaving the room.

Chuckling, Porthos picked up the other cup and tilted it towards Aramis.

Aramis shook his head, he had already taken a few swigs from the bottle before wetting a cloth with it to apply to his shallow cut. Instead, he laid back onto his bed and held the soothing poultice he now had against his cheek.

Porthos took his cup and moved the chair Constance had left next to the end of the bed so that he could somewhat sit across from him. "You're lucky that shot didn't kill you," he began, turning serious. "When the Queen screamed, I thought…" He took a sip of wine. "You're lucky the real King didn't hear what you said either. He looked ready to have you arrested back at the palace just for standing next to her."

Aramis sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "I know she's not mine, that she can never be mine, but I was desperate. I couldn't lo-" He swallowed thickly. "I couldn't let the Dauphin lose his mother. And on his birthday of all days." Pausing, he exhaled deeply. "I'd gladly accept a dozen more scars on my face if it meant keeping them safe."

Porthos nodded. "You know if our places had been switched and I was closest to her, I would have protected her as you did. And not just because it's my duty."

"I know," Aramis said solemnly. He then lifted his head up to meet Porthos' eyes and quirked an eyebrow. "But then you'd have another long scar on the same side of your face as that one." He pointed to the scar that cut vertically across Porthos' eye. "At least mine are evenly distributed."

Porthos laughed and then grew quiet again as he stared down into his cup. "I should have went with her when she left the party and then stood outside her chamber. Then this whole thing would have been avoided."

He sat up more so that he could look directly at Porthos. "She probably would have told you to stay with the Dauphin anyway." She always valued his safety more than her own. "What was it that she wasn't saying about the party? Did something happen that caused her to leave?"

Porthos glanced to the side as he recounted what happened. "The King announced that everyone was to swear allegiance to the Dauphin, starting with Governor Feron. When Feron went to bow, he fell. The King...looked like he did before: annoyed at the disruption. Her Majesty left before the next person could be called up."

Aramis frowned. Had that really been necessary for a six-year-old's birthday? Not to mention making so many people be there for this while Borel was on the loose. And then for the King to be annoyed after making an ill man come forward...it would be no wonder if Anne became upset with all that going on.

"I watched him while I was there, the Dauphin," Porthos continued. "I haven't properly seen him since we got back. Did you see him at all today?"

"No."

"You remember what the King was wearing?"

"Mhm."

"The Dauphin was wearing almost the exact same thing. Even wore a dark brown wig. He was made to look like a miniature of the King. But you know what? I so very clearly saw _you_. He jumped up out of his chair and went down the dais steps to help his uncle up without a second thought."

Aramis shook off Porthos' words. "He takes after the Queen in more than looks then."

A low growl emanated from the back of Porthos' throat. "I was thankful you weren't there because you would have done the same and the King could have seen..." He trailed off and then finished his drink. "I watched how the King was with him though. He cares about him. More than I've ever seen him care for another person."

"Good. I'm glad he has a father who loves him."

Porthos held his gaze when their eyes met. "He has two."

* * *

**A/N: An early Happy Birthday to Anne (and Happy Birthday to Philippe, who's here in spirit)!**

**Historical background/inspiration:**

**-"A royal child began to practice the rite of confession at about age seven, the same age that saw the appointment of his or her first teacher" -Martha Hoffman, _Raised to Rule_**

**-"at the age of seven, as was the custom, Louis XIV was turned over to the care of a Governor" -Olivier Bernier, _Louis XIV: A Royal Life_**

**-"His pleasure in fatherhood, however, did not lead to increased cordiality towards his wife-far from it. Louis distrusted Anne as much as ever, and when in November 1641 the cardinal infante Ferdinand died of a fever in Brussels, Louis broke the news with brutal directness: 'Your brother is dead'" -Ruth Kleinman, _Anne of Austria_**

_-_**Anne's niece, Maria Anna, was betrothed to her nephew, Balthasar Charles, but the boy died a couple months later (so his father, Philip IV, married her instead since his wife had died a few years earlier)**


	6. Death of a Hero

_Has it ever really been over, for you?_

_Of course it has_ is what she should say, is what she wanted to say.

"Your Majesty!" A page called, suddenly appearing around a corner and hurrying over to her. "Urgent message from the Bastille."

Anne diverted her gaze from Constance's sympathetic face. She had been saved from answering her, but with an ever-increasing sense of dread she waited for the note to be handed over and then signaled the page to leave.

Her heart was in her stomach by the time she finished reading the message. She looked up to meet Constance's questioning eyes. "Gaston has escaped."

Constance gasped.

"The King is away from the palace with only one musketeer." One of the best musketeers, but still only one. That was also so long as Louis hadn't already confronted Aramis about his relationship with her and called for the local magistrate to have him arrested...or even hanged.

"And you say Tréville and Athos left to rescue d'Artagnan and Porthos from a trap," she added. All her musketeers sent away from Paris and in danger of not returning. Well, all but one; Constance remained at her side.

"You think the Duke is staging a coup?" Constance asked, figuring out where her thoughts were going.

"This can't all be a coincidence." Louis must have requested Aramis alone because his suspicions were renewed after seeing her and Aramis together on the Dauphin's birthday and he wanted to get to the bottom of it once and for all. And someone must have helped Gaston escape, someone who knew of the King's pilgrimage.

A shiver went down her spine thinking about the possibility of an attempt on Louis' life. He is so vulnerable right now, not just because he only has one guard, but she fears him to be ill. The coughing, the exhaustion. What if he and Aramis are attacked and he passes out again?

"I have to get a message to Tréville and tell him what's going on," Anne decided. "Hopefully they'll have reached d'Artagnan and Porthos by now and can go to aid Aramis and the King, make sure they're safe."

She looked to Constance, who nodded in support. Anne then turned and started to lead them back to the palace, stopping though once she reached Madame de Sénécey, and her son, who was out on his pony.

"Louis, it's too hot for you and your pony to be out this long. Can you show everyone how to pull on the reins and turn so we can all go inside and cool down, maybe have some biscuits?"

His little face lighting up at the prospect, Louis then screwed his face up in concentration and looked down at the reins before slowly pulling his left hand back.

"Well done, darling," she said brightly as she watched him turn (with the help of the groomsman). She then stepped closer and walked alongside him. Settling her hand at the base of his neck, she swept her gaze back and forth over the grounds, looking for anything amiss. If there was a plot in motion, then her son was in danger as well.

Once they reached Louis' room, Constance challenged Louis to a duel while his governess ordered the biscuits. Anne then passed through the open doors to her husband's room and sat at his desk so she could write her message while keeping an eye on Louis.

She prayed Tréville and the others would be alerted in time to reach Louis at the mausoleum and protect him from Gaston and his allies. And if there is no attack, then hopefully their presence will prevent Louis from following through with whatever he was planning with Aramis, if he hadn't questioned him already.

Finishing her message, she handed it over to a page with strict instructions to get it to Tréville with all haste. She then went back to the desk and set another piece of blank parchment before her. Looking over, she saw Louis giving Constance a half-smile, his father's half-smile. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the quill again.

Of course it had never been over.

MMMMMMMMMM

They watched as Athos left and then returned to their own thoughts. There was a bigger force at work than they had imagined, and the magnitude of the King's impending death was only just starting to hit them.

"You should go as well. You two," Tréville said, looking to Porthos and d'Artagnan, "need to tend to your injuries. And I think all of us could do with some rest before we discuss our next steps."

The three of them made their way out of Tréville's office with bowed heads. Porthos and d'Artagnan were walking stiffly, their bodies had to be aching from having a building crash down on them. It was a wonder they were even standing at all.

He had been shocked to hear that the mission had been a trap meant to kill them and regretted not being there to help them fight Grimaud and his men, especially now that they knew he was a part of a conspiracy to help Gaston attain the throne.

Once outside the palace, Porthos spoke up, "So the King wanted you to accompany him in order to tell you he's dying? Why you though?"

Aramis looked down. He had hoped after Tréville neglected to ask that the others would also be too distracted by the looming death of the King and the plots forming around it to question him further. Still, he tried to avoid getting into it outright. "Because he wanted peace of mind."

Porthos halted in his steps and cut straight to the point though. "He wanted to know about you and the Queen, didn't he. You did the right thing though, denying it."

Aramis and d'Artagnan stopped as well. "I did not deny it," Aramis replied.

D'Artagnan's eyebrows knitted together. "You had to. You wouldn't be here if you didn't."

His hands rested on his hips and his gaze rested on the ground, unable to meet their eyes. "His Majesty realized that it would be more painful for me to continue to live with the knowledge that I can never be with them, that the Dauphin will never know me as his father. And I did continue to defend him from Grimaud and his men."

"But why admit to it at all?" d'Artagnan asked. "You couldn't have known he would spare you."

"I didn't and I tried to deter him at first but…" He looked up at them. "Something in me snapped, and I could not let him leave this world thinking that he had no part in it, that there would be no consequences for his deplorable treatment of her."

"Aramis, he is the King," Porthos stressed in a weary voice.

"So that makes it all right?" Aramis countered, his anger rising. "It is so hard to just stand there and watch him mistreat her, to not be able to step in, to not even be able to comfort her afterwards. He was more upset about me being near her than the fact she had been attacked."

"Of course it's not all right," Porthos answered. "But, Aramis, you said it yourself, he has months to live, and then he won't be able to mistreat her any more. Nor will he be able to have you and Her Majesty punished for treason."

The fire that had built up in his belly was snuffed out by Porthos' point. He didn't care what the King did to him, but confirming his suspicions could have had dire consequences for Anne and the Dauphin.

"The Dauphin only just turned six," Aramis said softly. "Six years old and he's going to lose his father and inherit a kingdom."

Porthos and d'Artagnan stood there quietly, looking downcast.

"And now Gaston is on the loose, planning to seize the throne once the King dies...if he doesn't have him murdered before then."

Porthos stepped closer to him. "Gaston will stay low and work on building support now that they know we're onto them. Grimaud is the key person helping him and he's the one trying to take us out so that the Queen and the Dauphin will be left undefended when the time comes. He's the one we need to go after."

Aramis nodded. Porthos was right. "Grimaud underestimated us if he thinks a couple of ambushes and a collapsed building will bring us down," he added, working up a small smile.

"It was just an annoyance really, making me sit and listen to Porthos complain for hours," d'Artagnan admitted.

Porthos let out a laugh but it turned into a cough, likely from the all the dust he must have inhaled when the building collapsed. It still clung to his hair and his clothes.

Aramis gently laid a hand on each of their shoulders. "Come on, let's get you two home."

Constance was there waiting for them at the entrance to the garrison. She immediately went over to d'Artagnan once he dismounted and embraced him, though she quickly let go in deference to his injuries. The cadets had returned before them and probably informed her of what happened.

"I wish I had known this morning to wait a few hours to have the tub brought out and the hot water prepared-you're covered in dirt from head to toe," Constance told her husband, looking him up and down.

D'Artagnan held up his hands. "I enjoyed this morning's bath so much I couldn't wait to take another one."

Smiling, Constance shook her head before looking over to Porthos. "Porthos, I've got a hot bath set up for you too, and I'll have some food ready once you're all cleaned up."

"Looking forward to it, thanks."

"Off you go, I'll look in on you in a minute," she said, encouraging d'Artagnan to go as well.

She took a deep breath and then turned to him, her face becoming more serious. "You're alive then, and not in a cell either, that's good. When the King asked for you alone...Her Majesty was worried."

"So was I." He had tried not to let it show when Anne looked to him after the King left the room, but it was hard to deny that the King's motives for requesting him were purely because of his religious background as he said.

Constance took out a small sealed note from her pocket. "She asked me to give you this." After he accepted it, she put her hand on his arm. "I put a bowl of fresh water and clean cloths in your room. Let me know if you need anything else."

He thanked her and watched her leave. Once in his room he broke the plain seal on the note and, opening it up, saw just one sentence written in an elegant hand: _Tonight, when the Sun sets, the Moon will rise in the South and you will find that Gallagher's men weren't building._

Aramis stared at the message. It sounded like she wanted to see him. The time was easy to figure out, and the Moon was a known symbol for queen consorts, but where? The location had to be in the rest of the message. South was a part of it...but what did the part about Gallagher's men mean?

He ran a hand through his hair as he recalled the events involving Gallagher's men. Surely she couldn't mean the convent if she wanted to see him at sunset. He repeated the final four words in his head over and over, _Gallagher's men weren't building, Gallagher's men weren't building, Gallagher's men weren't building_…they were tunneling.

The tunnels under the Louvre, that must be what she means. And Moon in the South, she'll be at the South entrance.

The question then popped into his head whether he should actually go after the King told him he would have no contact with her, but it was quickly shot down.

Of course he would go.


	7. Fool's Gold

_I spent a night with Aramis_

"Majesty, you wanted to see me?"

Anne closed her eyes and basked in the warmth of the morning sun for a second more before turning away from the window. "Yes. Please, sit." Sitting down opposite Tréville, she took a deep breath and got right to it. "I'm afraid I have to inform you that the King is ill. Mortally ill."

Tréville only exhaled and bowed his head. Not exactly the reaction she was expecting.

"I know, Majesty," he said.

"Aramis told you," she assumed. It would make sense for him to have also made his brothers and Tréville aware of the King's failing health, especially with Gaston having escaped the Bastille and vying for the throne again.

Tréville looked up at her with narrowed eyes. "He came to see you."

"I asked him to. I was worried about what the King really wanted with him when they went on that pilgrimage."

"Which was?"

"To find out if Aramis and I had slept together," she informed him in a defeated tone. After all they went through to stop Rochefort and discredit him, all they did to cover up the truth, and now Louis knew anyway.

Tréville's eyebrows sprang up. "He came to see you after that? _And_ told you of the King's condition? Does he want to get hanged?"

"He thought I knew already." She narrowed her own eyes. "Why are you more concerned about him seeing me than the news about the King?"

No response. He wouldn't even meet her eyes.

"Tréville," she pressed, "I am not in the mood for this, nor do we have the time. What aren't you telling me?"

"His Majesty didn't want you to know," he finally admitted.

"You talked to him...when?" She herself hadn't talked to Louis about it yet, having planned on going to him once she'd talked to Tréville.

He shifted in his seat. "When Gaston returned."

Her jaw dropped. "You knew this whole time and didn't tell me?" She could understand Louis not wanting to tell her, but Tréville?

"He threatened to hang me if I did."

At the moment, she couldn't decide whether she was more angry at Louis for hiding this from her, or more disappointed in Tréville for not trying harder for her. Louis had probably threatened to hang Aramis and yet he came to see her.

"_My son_ is the heir to the throne. This is his future, his life we're talking about, and you agreed to keep this from me."

"I'm sorry, Majesty."

"Gaston. Did the King bring him back to make amends before…?"

"Partially," Tréville answered, looking even more uneasy.

Anne frowned. "Why else?"

"The King...is worried about the Dauphin not remembering him."

"The party," she said, understanding now. "That's why he was so intent on the grand scale, why it had to go forward." It could be his last one and he wanted it to be memorable. It's not how she would have gone about it, quite the opposite really, but now she knew his motivation for it. "But how does Gaston fit in?"

"His Majesty wanted him to be there for the Dauphin, to teach him about his father."

"I'm sorry," she began with a slight shake of her head as she tried to make sense of this, "the same Gaston who tried to take his own brother's throne, who spent the last three years in exile, and barely had a relationship with him before that? Not to mention the letters recently found in his possession talking of gathering another army. Was he planning on pardoning him in his will so Gaston could stroll right out of the Bastille and onto the throne?"

And then she realized something that made her blood run cold.

"Did he intend to name Gaston regent and not me?"

"He never explicitly said 'regent.'"

She ground her teeth and exhaled through her nose, increasingly feeling like a bull that was being taunted by Tréville's evasiveness. "He must have. He didn't want me to know that he's dying. He barely speaks to me at all and when he does it's to belittle me. And he knows I would never let Gaston near the Dauphin once I became regent." She said this all more to herself than to Tréville, who was currently bent forward with his hands clasped together and staring at the floor.

Standing up. she wrapped her arms around herself while she walked back over towards the window and recalled Louis' behavior and decisions the past several months. He had wanted Gaston to spend time with his nephew when he first arrived and get to know him better. That morning when he was there when she came to wake Louis up, how he taunted her when Louis didn't want a kiss from her. The party. The pony. He was trying to push her out of her son's life. Gaston was right, she is living in a kind of exile, she has been for some time.

And if Gaston becomes regent, she will definitely be exiled, if not killed.

"If Gaston is made regent, he will see to it that the Dauphin does not reach maturity. He will kill us all." She turned and looked at Tréville, who was now standing with his hands behind his back. "You do know that."

Tréville briefly met her gaze before nodding.

"We have to talk to the King. Now."

As they made their way to Louis' bedroom, Tréville spoke up. "I will say that I slipped concerning his condition, His Majesty shouldn't know that it was Aramis who told you."

"He shouldn't, but I had my suspicions and ordered you to tell me-it's true and all we need to say."

They tuned down the corridor leading to Louis' apartments...and her son's.

She turned to Tréville. "Do you mind if I look in on the Dauphin? It will only take a moment." It was a little earlier than she usually woke him, but she didn't know how long this meeting with Louis would be, or how well it would go.

"No, Majesty, of course not."

Tréville followed her to the doorway of little Louis' room and then waited there while she went in. The curtains had been drawn and a pile of clothes had been placed on a chair by the maids, but doors to her husband's room were closed, and Louis lay asleep in his bed, curled up on his side.

She walked over and perched herself on the edge of the bed. Lifting a hand, she started gently carding it through his untidy mop of hair. Smiling, she thought of Aramis' own unruly hair, and knew their son would grow to be just as dashing and handsome.

And she will see to it that he lives long enough to become that man, starting with putting a stop to Gaston and his allies. She had to stop Louis from throwing her son and the whole of France to the wolves, and ensure she would have the power of the regency to protect all that she loved.

Leaning forward, she kissed her son's forehead, sealing her promise to keep him safe.

"I've got you," she whispered.

MMMMMMMMMM

He sat there, d'Artagnan and Porthos nearby, waiting for Elodie to finish checking on Athos. He hoped and prayed his brother's agony was over and that his body had succeeded in ridding itself of the poison he had been injected with.

Having heard Athos call out Sylvie's name during the night in between his cries of pain, his thoughts began to wander towards Anne again in the quiet of the morning. He also hoped that she was recovering from the shock of finding out that the King is dying and that she was now preparing for the changes and challenges that would come with it.

He also hoped that the King wouldn't seek to punish her further now that he knew for certain that she had slept with him and lied about her son's parentage.

_You don't know how things have been between us_, she had said, genuinely believing her husband would banish her and separate her from her son. She had looked ready to go and either barricade herself in the Dauphin's room or run away with him, so strong she was in her belief of how the King would react.

Largely by chance, he had avoided being in the King's presence since his return up until the party. In truth, he had been glad of it, for although he had wished to see Anne and the Dauphin, it was likely they would be at the King's side, and he knew that it would hurt to be reminded how they were not his, nor did he want to endanger them by arousing the King's suspicions-if he still had any-through some slip of restraint.

It seemed though that the King might have always believed Rochefort's accusation regarding the Dauphin's paternity. Perhaps, deep in his heart, he knew it to be true, but he didn't want to accept it, didn't want to admit to a fault on his part. And that would mean he knew that Anne had been lying to him as well. Aramis hadn't seen them together until the party either, and hated to think that's how he'd been treating her these past several years while he was away.

She had looked so lost when he met her in the tunnels, so small and vulnerable and _alone_. How isolated she must have been these past few years, how lonely, and now she would be left with the burden of a dying husband and taking on a regency over a country at war that already disliked her because she was Spanish.

He hoped his words and the kiss he placed on her trembling hand would help her face what lied ahead. As much as he had wanted to shelter her in his arms and let her cry into his shoulder, he could not stay, and he could not let her wallow in her emotions for too long. She had to pull herself up and focus on securing their son's future.

Their son, the next king. The one sliver of comfort he could find for himself in all this was knowing that the King had continued to love the child as his own despite suspecting or believing that he was another man's son. Hearing that the Dauphin called for the King when he was hurt or scared, how he loved him as his father, it had crushed him, but it would be worse to know that the King had neglected him like Anne, that he resented his existence though the child was completely innocent and had no knowledge of the sins of his parents.

Aramis ran a hand through his hair. He was lucky that the King decided to let him live. And now he had to pray that Athos would be spared as well, for they could not lose him, not now, not like this.

His head jerked up and he jumped to his feet when he saw Elodie come out. The smile playing at her lips sent a wave a relief crashing over him.

"He's still very weak," she informed them before Aramis and his brothers went to go and see him for themselves.

* * *

**A/N: Your patience WILL be rewarded, and Anne and Aramis will start having private conversations in the next chapter.**


	8. Prisoners of War

_You cannot fight an idea, Aramis_

The carriage set off as soon as the door shut, jolting her back against the seat.

"Majesty!"

"I'm fine, Claude. Are you all right?"

Her lady-in-waiting nodded vigorously, her eyes wide and frightened.

Anne could hear the clicking of hooves coming closer and turned away to see a horse's head pass the window and then the leg of it's rider.

"Majesty, are you all right?" Aramis asked as he peered into the carriage.

"Yes," she shouted back.

He urged his horse ahead before she could ask the same of him as this was the first she'd seen him since his return from captivity. From the few seconds she had been in his presence she didn't perceive him to be seriously hurt, which was a relief in addition to him being there to help usher her away from the angry crowd.

She let her head fall back and closed her eyes. How could her plans have turned into such disasters? And just when she was starting to feel hopeful that she could end the war, and help her son and her people.

Why would someone want to stop her from accomplishing that? Unless Tréville was right about Gaston looking to attack a spread out and war-weary army. And those pamphlets. Were Gaston and this Grimaud working with Marcheaux to turn the people against her? What could have been on them to cause those people to call her such things?

Arriving at the palace, Anne stepped out of the carriage and saw the musketeers dismount as well, though she noticed how Aramis took longer than the others to get down from his horse.

"I assure you, Majesty, Sylvie was not responsible for printing those," Athos said earnestly. "If you're all right, I'd like to see Tréville or the King about sorting this out and clearing her name."

"I believe you. Go." Constance had said she could trust Sylvie, and now Athos was also defending the woman. Someone must have forced her hand or taken over the press.

"I'll escort Her Majesty to her apartments," Aramis announced to his brothers.

Athos nodded. He probably thought the same as she that it would be better if Aramis wasn't in the King's presence for a while.

And she did want to talk to him.

They said nothing though as they walked inside. Stopping at the foot of the stairs, Anne turned to Claude. "Please see to it that the rest of the money is dispersed to the local churches and then you are relieved of your duties for the remainder of the day."

As she proceeded up the stairs, she could hear Aramis following behind her. His steps sounded slow and heavy, and she could hear him letting out huffs of breath. She forced herself to keep her head facing forward though until she reached the corridor leading to her bedroom and then stopped.

She let her head and shoulders drop as she exhaled. She then turned around and finally took a closer look at Aramis' appearance, or tried to, as he had his head angled down and the brim of his hat covering half of his face.

"Let me see," she asked softly.

Slowly, he took off his hat and raised his head. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the bruising at his temple. "Oh, Aramis," she murmured, brushing back his hair to see the extent of the discolored skin. He closed his eyes at her touch and she swallowed thickly. "How badly did he hurt you?"

Aramis shook his head minutely. "Just a few bumps and bruises. Nothing to worry about." He gave her a small, reassuring smile.

She took his free hand. He had already taken his gloves off since they got there, so she only had to push back his sleeve to see his reddened and chafed wrist.

Her stomach rolled at the thought of him in chains, at the mercy of brutes, and all because she had asked him to go. "I'm so sorry. If I had listened-"

"We could not have known that Grimaud was aware of our talks and would lay a trap. I chose to go and I chose to walk into it despite the feeling that something was wrong."

"How did it happen?"

She stood there and tried to keep her emotions in check while he gave her a brief account of what had happened; from how he was drawn in, to how his brothers came to rescue him but were unable to catch Grimaud.

"How did he know you would be there though?"

Aramis tilted his head to the side in consideration and toyed with the brim of his hat. "In addition to being able to move about undetected, he's working with Gaston and his allies, probably Marcheaux and the Red Guard, and has he his own men as well. If he didn't see or hear something, then someone else could have and then informed him."

"Do you think he was behind those pamphlets as well?"

"He told me himself there will be no peace. Discrediting you in addition to intercepting your peace talks would certainly help ensure that the fighting and instability continues."

Anne sighed. Everything about her regency was turning into an uphill battle. "What exactly was on them? The pamphlets."

He looked down at the floor.

"Aramis, I saw you look at one. Please, I have to know what I'm up against."

Putting his hat between his arm and his side, he brought his head up, but his eyes would not meet hers. "They depicted you with your arms around a man and...it said 'The Spanish Queen's Latest Lover.'"

Anne couldn't suppress the gasp that escaped her lips, her mind immediately jumping to the thought that it had been built on a nugget of truth: her relationship with Aramis.

That one night with him where she told him she wanted to be called by her Christian name, her Spanish name, and he had then asked, in Spanish, if she wanted to be spoken to in her native tongue as well. A pleasant surprise that had made their night together even more intimate. More recently, it had helped convince her to go to him with her plan of holding covert peace talks with Philip. Aramis' fluency in Spanish would leave no room for a miscommunication with the ambassador, and he would easily be able to communicate with and hopefully facilitate any Spanish troops he encountered along the way. But most of all, she had asked him to take on the task because she trusted him. He understood what was at stake, what they were fighting for.

That one night with him was also when they conceived their son though. If the people believe her to be capable of having affairs, of lying and deceiving and forgoing her duty, then they might come to question her son's legitimacy, and they, along with Louis, might questions her worthiness as a ruler, and her regency could very well end before it begins.

Her heart began to race as her panic started to rise along with her anger. Her love for Aramis, a love she has tried so hard to bury and deny herself of, was being twisted into such lies to use against her, and just after Louis had reconciled with her. She could not believe this was all happening.

"How will my reputation recover?"

MMMMMMMMMM

When he returned to the garrison after leaving Tréville's office he saw that the others' horses were in the stable. They were probably all in the captain's office, or in his own room even, waiting to give him a more thorough dressing down than they could on the road. He wasn't up to their withering looks or questions about him and Anne though so instead he got some broth and sat down at the table in the yard.

He had a few spoonfuls left when a cadet came into the garrison, making his way towards a couple other cadets who were sparring. "I've got some," he shouted, waving some papers in his hand.

The sparring cadets lowered their swords and went to meet the other boy. As he stretched out his arm to them, Aramis spoke up. "If those are what I think they are, they better be on their way to a fire."

The cadets turned their heads to look at him, their hands all frozen in mid-air. He winced as he stood up from the table, his aching muscles stiff from sitting. As he made his way over to the group, the boys lowered their hands and looked guiltily down at the ground.

He didn't bother to check what the cadet had in his hand once he got to them. "We are called the King's Musketeers, but it is our duty to protect the royal family. The King, the Dauphin, _and_ the Queen." He made sure to look all three of them in the eye to ensure they were listening. "And we protect them from _all_ harm. Understood?"

The three cadets stood a little straighter and answered yes.

"I'll get rid of them."

Aramis gave a curt not in acknowledgment before walking away, having decided that he would do the same. He had been unable to deliver Anne's letter. He had been unable to destroy it. He could not stop Grimaud from getting away and wreaking more havoc, and he could not protect Anne from the King, but he could stop those pamphlets from spreading even more.

He headed in the direction of the printing press, but wove his way through the streets, making sure to go back to the place of the incident, knowing that some if not most of them would have probably been left behind once Anne had been driven out. Along the way he picked up any that he came across. Those still milling about who had them in their hands quickly dropped them to the ground when they saw his pauldron and the stack clenched in his hand. He knew his present demeanor wasn't very warm and friendly either; angry and still in pain as he was.

When he spotted a pile of pamphlets scattered against the side of a building where two older men were talking though, he made an effort to soften his look as he approached them. "Messieurs, would you mind stepping aside for a moment so I can pick these up?"

Halting in their conversation, they glanced first at Aramis, then to where he was pointing. With mumbles of agreement, they stepped away.

After gathering the pamphlets, Aramis took a deep breath and stood back up, biting back a groan as he did so. "These will be sent to the front and used to load powder, thank you." He had wanted to throw them all in a fire, and still had a mind to do so, but now was not the time to be wasting resources, and since he had failed to bring them closer to peace, he would put them to use at the front-though he'd see if the ink could be washed off or the paper bleached first.

He started to walk away when he heard one of the men resume their conversation.

"With that, the Queen will have done more for France today than all the years she's been here."

"Her Majesty is always trying to help France and its people," he said, turning back around and realizing that as soon as he opened his mouth he shouldn't have.

The man on his left raised his eyebrows at him. "Oh is she? Well I've not seen any real results of her efforts."

His friend backed him up. "She's been our queen for over a decade and what has she done for us in all that time? Handed out a few coins, put some letters on paper? Finally gives France one measly heir and thinks she's done her duty and can do what she wants?"

Aramis took a fistful of the man's jacket. "You have no idea how much she has suffered for this country!"

"Judging by those pamphlets, I don't think she's suffering. Now get off me!"

The other man's hands were on his arms suddenly, pulling him back, making him cry out as pain shot through his swollen shoulders. The man then shoved him away and Aramis hit the ground with a gasp, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

"Oi! What's going on?!"

Turning his head, he was relieved to see Constance hurrying towards them with Brujon at her side.

"This musketeer attacked us."

"Doesn't look like that from where I'm standing," Constance countered.

"He thought he could get into the Queen's bed if he got those pamphlets off the street and beat up a couple of old men in her honor. Waste of time, musketeer, I think just the uniform will get ya in; the more French soldiers she lures into her bed, the less out fighting her countrymen, the Spanish sl-"

Aramis had started to push himself up so that he could get to the man and shut him up, but Constance got to him first, and with a mighty punch sent him reeling back against the wall of the building.

"Hey!" His companion yelled. With a menacing look he started to advance towards Constance but Aramis stuck his leg out, tripping him. By the time both men recovered-with one holding a hand over his nose-Constance had pulled her knife out, and Brujon had unsheathed his sword.

"I think you'd best be getting out of here," Constance cooly suggested.

"I've seen her with a blade, messieurs. I'd run, not walk," Aramis advised them.

Eyeing the blades pointed at them, the two men started to back away, glowering as they did, and then disappeared around a corner.

Once Brujon sheathed his sword, he offered a hand to Aramis, but Aramis shook his head. "I can't be pulled up. Just give me a moment." He rolled over so that his arms and legs were under him and then pushed up onto his knees before finally standing.

"Did you dislocate your shoulder or something?" Constance asked, looking him over.

Leaning his back against the building, he wrapped his arms around himself to try and relieve the pain. "No, they're just swollen."

"Is it from when Grimaud had you? D'Artagnan said..." Constance trailed off, her eyes filled with concern.

Aramis nodded. "Had me hanging around, literally, on and off for several hours."

"So then what in God's name are you doing out here getting even more beat up?"

"Fighting an idea." He directed Brujon to the pamphlets he had dropped during the scuffle. "Brujon, would you please pick those up for me? They're gonna be reused."

Looking over at what Aramis was referring to, Constance tutted. "You were gonna collect those all by yourself when you can barely stand?" She picked up her basket and stepped closer to Brujon. "Put 'em here."

Aramis finally looked into what he had thought was an empty basket only to realize that a small pile of the offending pamphlets were lining the bottom. The corners of his mouth lifted up, he should have known Constance would pick them up as well. "Apologies, madame, I should have invited you."

Constance gave him an exasperated look in response. "When we get back I'll send the cadets out, give them something to do." She sighed. "Come on, we're on our way to Sylvie's place to retrieve some of her things. After that we're taking you back to the garrison. I want you to have a look at her and then let me have a look at you."

"Is Sylvie hurt?"

Her eyebrows knitted together. "Aramis, didn't you hear? Marcheaux…" she leaned in and then spoke to him in a whisper, "he whipped her."

His jaw dropped. "What?"

"For the pamphlets. Athos and the others stopped him after a few lashes, but her back, it's still cut up."

"But surely she wasn't responsible-"

"Of course she wasn't, someone interfered at the printing press, but the King believed Sylvie to be guilty because of her connection to the press and her preaching against the crown, and had her punished to set an example, which I hear Marcheaux was happy to carry out. I'm sure he had a hand in setting it up too."

"If I could swing a sword right now without feeling like my arms were being torn out of their sockets I'd find that man and run him through."

"Believe me, he'll be full of holes by the time we're all done with him."

* * *

**Historical inspiration/background:**

-Prior to 1750, paper was made out of rags and was more durable (and reusable) than the impure wood-pulp that would later be used with the introduction of machine-made paper (and chlorine)


	9. The Prize

_Do you realize how close we were to losing him?_

"I'm so frightened for him." Did he even know what was going on? Why he had to be hidden? That the man he knew as his father was dead?

She sought comfort in Aramis' eyes, but he turned his head away and then took a step back. She then turned her own head to see who had walked in.

_Speak of the devil._

"Your Majesty," Gaston said dramatically, opening his arms out as he bowed. "We are united in our grief."

Anne closed her eyes and wished that he wouldn't still be there when she opened them, that she would wake up from this nightmare.

It was all in vain though, for she opened her eyes to see him looking as smug as ever, and coming closer.

But he was the last person she wanted to talk to.

"Don't you dare speak to me," she said as she walked out of the room without sparing another look at him.

Letting out a shaky breath, she turned down the hallway and tried to make sense of whatever Tréville had planned. He had pardoned Gaston to bring him to the palace so that he would see a decoy of her son leaving, to lead him and his allies in the wrong direction, but lead them away from where? If the decoy was being taken out of Paris, then where in Paris was her son being hidden?

She had hoped never to relive that fear of when she heard her son was missing from his crib, to hear that no one knew where he was. But her son had been taken from her again. Again...and then it hit her. Constance. Constance would take him to save him.

Coming to a stop, she turned to her ladies, who had rejoined her once she came out into the hallway.

"Have a carriage readied for me. Small, inconspicuous. And fetch me a cape. Quickly," she ordered, leaving no room for them to question her.

She continued on to her room with renewed fervor now that she had an idea of where her son had been taken. How could they do this to her. To Aramis. How could they not ask her. How could they not let Aramis be with him. Not that she did not trust the others to do all they could to protect him, but Aramis had promised her. Her son's most devoted servant. His father.

Tréville had said that Gaston and Lorraine's army would march on Paris, that they would come for Louis. But didn't he know that she and Aramis would die before letting Gaston touch their son? And she could have helped. She felt so useless now, so pointless. No husband, no regency, and her friends were hiding her son from her. On top of it all, Gaston was walking around the palace like he had already won.

Once she was told the carriage was ready, she left her ladies behind and set off for the garrison. The place was quiet when she got there, just a few cadets huddled together and a couple others moving about. One of them approached her as she looked around.

"Can I help you, madame?" The tall and lanky cadet asked.

"I'm looking for Madame d'Artagnan. Do you know where she is?"

"I'm sorry, but I do not know where she is, only that she went out some time ago."

"What about her husband, or the Captain, or Porthos du Vallon?"

"They are all out, madame."

Anne lightly sighed, she should have expected this to be hard. Thanking him, she started towards the stairs to the Captain's office. Athos was surely in on the plan and may have left behind a clue as to where Constance had taken Louis.

"Madame? Excuse me, madame," the cadet called out when she reached the fourth step. She turned towards him.

"Where are you going?"

"The Captain's office," she said plainly. "It hasn't moved, has it?" It had been a while since she was last at the garrison, but she's certain she would have heard if Athos had moved things around.

The cadet looked puzzled. "No, but I said the Captain wasn't here."

"You did. Still, I would like to see his office."

"I don't think he would like me allowing you in there alone."

Anne lifted her veil back. "My husband may be dead, and Tréville may be Regent, but I am still the Queen Mother, and the musketeers still serve me."

"Queen…" the cadet repeated before realization dawned on him and his jaw dropped. He closed and opened his mouth several times before getting anything out. "Your Majesty?" He threw a look back at her carriage and then looked her up and down. "I-I-forgive me, Your Majesty, I didn't realize," he stuttered and hastily went into a deep bow.

She continued making her way up. She was about to reach to top when she heard the cadet running up the stairs. "Your Majesty!"

She stepped onto the landing and then turned around. He bowed again once he got to the top of the stairs.

"Your Majesty, forgive me, it's just that you have no guards. Isn't it dangerous for you to be out on your own?"

"What is your name?"

He looked up at her with wide eyes before quickly directing his gaze back to the ground. "Brujon, Your Majesty."

"Well, Brujon, this was supposed to be a private visit. And I would appreciate it if you stopped saying 'Your Majesty' so loudly, and so much for that matter; you do not need to use it in every sentence you say to me."

"Yes, Your-Yes, sorry."

"Good, now I will attend to my business in the Captain's office," she said, hopefully putting an end to the topic.

"I will, um, wait here and make sure you are not disturbed."

She was about to send him away, but perhaps it would be good of him to stay. "Thank you, Brujon. But if you see anyone that I had asked for come in, send them to me-don't say who I am though, this is a private visit, remember." She didn't want them to turn away or have the time to prepare whatever lies they were instructed to tell her.

"Yes, I-I will." He bowed his head and then straightened his spine and pushed back his shoulders. Any other day she would have found his stumbling and desire to impress endearing, but right now she didn't have the time nor even the strength to smile.

Entering the office slowly, she walked past the unmade bed towards the desk. There were several papers scattered about it, but from what she could see there was no note, no dot on a map that could indicate where her son could be. Taking a step back she chided herself for being so foolish as to think they would leave behind such valuable information.

Lifting her gaze away from the table, something on her left caught her eye. A small chest under the window behind the desk had something sticking out, preventing the lid from closing completely. It looked like a piece of fabric; champagne colored and with a slight shine to it.

Taking a couple steps closer, her heart started to race as she began to think of what it could be, and who it really belonged to.

She gasped softly when she lifted the lid and confirmed her suspicions. It was the outfit her son had been wearing this morning. They must have changed him into something less conspicuous before taking him into hiding.

Taking a trembling breath, she clutched her son's clothes closer to her chest. _He had been here_.

MMMMMMMMMM

They were too late.

If they had gotten there just minutes earlier, seconds even, they could have saved him.

Aramis knew he'd be recounting everything that went wrong today for the rest of his life. Everything they could have or should have done differently that would have prevented the sight before him: Tréville lying motionless, blood soaking through his clothes, his eyes closed forever.

He sacrificed himself to save Aramis' son. Aramis had seen Porthos with another horse meant for Tréville, but he decided to stay behind and make sure Porthos got away with the King, making himself a target for Grimaud's men and then Grimaud himself.

Aramis tore his eyes away from his former captain's body and looked up at Athos. "Grimaud?" He knew Athos had gone after him, but judging by how fast Athos had returned, it was likely he escaped them once again.

Athos only shook his head in response. He looked down at Tréville. "We'll bring him inside for now, we have to return to Paris and make sure the King is secure." His eyes briefly flickered up to Aramis. "I'll see if there's a table inside to lay him on. Aramis, our horses should be brought in. D'Artagnan if you could take care of mine."

Aramis nodded and gently moved Tréville's head from his lap, but d'Artagnan gave no sign that he heard Athos. He just sat there, still staring at Tréville.

"D'Artagnan?" Aramis prompted.

Wide brown eyes met his. He looked like a young boy again, lost and unsure.

Aramis briefly glanced up to Athos before repeating Athos' request. D'Artagnan looked over to the horses, who were grazing not too far off, and then up at Athos before affirming that he would. His attention then returned back to Tréville.

Athos looked worryingly down at d'Artagnan. When Aramis met his gaze he signaled him to go on; he would keep an eye on d'Artagnan. Knowing Athos, he probably wanted to be on his own for a few minutes.

"I'll be back," Athos stated and then walked away.

After Aramis stood up, he offered d'Artagnan a hand, but when his brother raised his right arm, he winced and jerked his arm back.

"Are you hurt?"

"It's nothing," d'Artagnan quickly answered, standing up on his own.

Aramis brushed off his response. "Let me see," he said, his tone stern. He was not going to let d'Artagnan leave a potentially serious wound untreated because he didn't want to look weak or because he thought his needs were less important right now.

Thankfully, d'Artagnan must have been too tired to put up a fight. He turned around and muttered, "My shoulder, it stung when my uniform rubbed against it that's all."

Aramis saw where the leather was torn and pulled it back. The cloth underneath was stained with blood but once he saw the wound it didn't look to still be bleeding much.

"You were stabbed?" Judging by how the clothing and flesh were cut, it looked too neat to be a gunshot wound, and he hoped d'Artagnan wasn't stubborn enough to not tell him that there was a ball in him, seeing as there was no exit wound in his chest.

D'Artagnan gave a few small nods of his head. "It shouldn't be that deep. Just pour some alcohol on it and pack it in for now, we don't have time to bandage it."

Aramis exhaled deeply. He wanted to properly tend to d'Artagnan's wound, but so long as it wasn't bleeding heavily, it could wait until they reached the garrison. "Come on then, we'll get the horses, my supplies are in my saddlebag anyway."

Once the horses were secure, Aramis retrieved his flask, which he passed over to d'Artagnan to take a swig from if he wanted, and then took out his bandage roll and cut a square piece from it. Taking the flask back, he soaked the bandage in the alcohol and then stuffed the cloth into the opening in d'Artagnan's uniform.

"I'm sorry, Aramis," d'Artagnan suddenly said as Aramis was putting away his supplies. "I let them take the King. They could have hurt him."

Aramis' hands stilled on the saddlebag at the reminder that Grimaud had captured his son and could have killed d'Artagnan instead of taking him. Looking over he saw that his brother had his gaze fixed on the ground.

He put his hands on his hips. "You were on your own and facing an enemy we all have underestimated far too many times." He stepped in front of d'Artagnan and waited until his eyes rose up to meet his. "The King _is_ safe and _we_ _will_ put a stop to Grimaud and his allies once and for all."

D'Artagnan swallowed and nodded his head. When his eyes met his again they were hard. "I won't let them hurt the King. Or the Queen. I won't let _his_-" he looked past Aramis in the direction of Tréville's body, "-sacrifice be for nothing. I won't."

"None of us will."

Aramis and d'Artagnan turned their heads to see Athos in front of the doorway.

Athos held up a folded piece of parchment. "He got Lorraine to sign a treaty."

"And then Grimaud murdered them both for it," d'Artagnan added bitterly.

"Lorraine's dead?"

Athos nodded. "He's inside."

"What about Gaston?"

"Ran off, the coward," said d'Artagnan.

"So he's still a threat," Aramis said with annoyance.

"We don't need to worry about him right now." Athos went over to his horse and put the treaty in his saddlebag. "Let's bring him in," he said and then began walking over to Tréville.

Aramis put a hand on d'Artagnan's good shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze before they followed after Athos.

When they reached Tréville's body Aramis directed d'Artagnan to take his legs so as not to pull on his wound too much. He and Athos supported the rest of his body and the three of them brought him inside and laid him on two tables that had been pushed together and covered with what Aramis realized to be curtains from the windows.

Athos then picked up the ends of the curtains and drew them over Tréville. While d'Artagnan helped him, Aramis looked around and in a corner of the room he saw what must have been Lorraine's body covered by his banner. There were a few other bodies lying on the floor, and streaks of blood that suggested Athos had dragged some of them out of the way.

"One more thing," Aramis murmured and then left the room. They had passed the French flag on their way in, the one Porthos must have brought when he returned with Tréville. Taking it off the pole, he brought it back for the three of them to lay on top of Tréville's body.

MMMMMMMMMM

Sitting at her desk, she started taking some of the pins out of her hair. There was nothing left for her to do but wait for news, news that her son was coming home tonight, or news that he wasn't.

Just when she set her veil down, she heard a faint knock on the antechamber doors that led to the servants landing.

Standing up, she hurried to the doors. One of them was opened a crack.

"Majesty?" She could see one of Constance's blue eyes. "Are you alone?"

"Yes. What's going on?" She pulled the door open wider and looked down, hoping to see Louis standing in front of her, but he wasn't, and instead of coming forward, Constance took a step back.

As Anne was about to step closer, Porthos appeared in front of Constance and in his arms was her son.

"Louis!" Taking him into her own arms she held him tightly against her. "Oh, I'm so happy to see you." She pushed back his hood and examined his dirty face. "Are you all right?"

He nodded. "Mama, I told them that our fizz-ishun could make Tréville better."

"Make him better? Did he get hurt?" She looked to Constance and Porthos.

Porthos clasped his wrist and with downcast eyes answered, "He was hit at least once and...they were still firing as I left with the King."

"What! Who was firing?"

"Red guards working for Grimaud."

Anne opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"I saw Athos and Aramis riding in, but I don't know if...I don't know what happened after that. Once I got to the garrison, Constance thought the King should be brought to Your Majesty."

Her head was spinning. "But-wait-as you left with the...Left where? Tréville had gone to talk with Lorraine. Where were you when this happened?"

"At Lorraine's camp," Porthos responded to her regret.

"How did he get there?!" She turned to Constance with alarm.

Constance shirked under her gaze. "He was with d'Artagnan and they must have been _taken,_" Constance told her, mouthing the last word as her eyes darted over to Louis.

Anne could hardly believe what she was hearing. She hugged her son closer as if to make sure he was there. Captured? And brought to the most dangerous place he could be? How could this have happened?

"So Gaston and Lorraine are still a threat?" If Louis and d'Artagnan had been captured and Tréville was shot, then she didn't think negotiations had gone well, and that meant they would still be after Louis.

"Lorraine isn't. As for Gaston and Grimaud, well, they're in no position to launch an attack on the palace, not tonight at least."

So Tréville must have been successful in his talks and was then attacked as he tried to leave with Louis. Aramis had said Grimaud didn't want peace. Perhaps he attacked Tréville to put an end to any truce that was made. There was definitely more to what Porthos had said, and she wanted to ask a thousand more questions, but she feared that they shouldn't be answered, or asked for that matter, in front of Louis.

She turned her attention back to her son. "Are you hungry, darling?"

"A little."

"All right, we'll get you something to eat, and after that we'll go in the bath and get you cleaned up. Does that sound good?" She tried to keep her tone light.

"Can I go in your big bath?"

"Of course, darling." Some time in the warm water would be good for her as well, she decided. After laying a kiss on Louis' cheek she put him down but kept a hold of his hand. She turned to Constance and Porthos. "I can have food prepared for you two as well, and a table brought to this room for you to sit at."

"Thank you, Majesty, but I would like to be at the gate when the others get back," Porthos said, his brown eyes boring into her. He wanted to be there when they brought back Tréville, she realized.

"And I would like to be down there as well, especially if they need help," Constance added.

"Of course. Plates will be brought to you then, and I will send for the royal physician as well. But once the others have returned I want you to bring them up here, even if it's late. Unless they are injured I want to see you all. I need to know what is going on as soon as possible."

"Yes, Your Majesty, and thank you," Constance said with a bow of her head.

Anne watched them turn to leave and then remembered something. "Constance?" Letting go of Louis' hand, she stepped closer to her and spoke in a low voice. "That woman who was with you at the church, was that Sylvie?" Constance nodded. "What happened to her?"

"She's fine. She's waiting for the others at the garrison if they go there first," Constance answered softly. "Would you like her to come here too, when we all talk?"

"Does she know? About...his father?" Anne whispered, and turned her head slightly towards her son.

"I don't think so."

"Then perhaps it would be better if she stayed there. Besides, she deserves far more of my time than I can give her tonight. Though, I hope you will pass on my sincerest thanks when you see her."

MMMMMMMMMM

Porthos and Constance were waiting for them when they passed through the palace gate, and Aramis saw their eyes search for a fourth person. Coming to a stop, he felt d'Artagnan get down from behind him and watched as Constance came over to her husband, her hands reaching out for him.

After dismounting and then handing the reins over to a waiting pageboy, he stepped closer to Constance and d'Artagnan. Constance's face was pinched and she was shaking her head; d'Artagnan must have told her about Tréville.

Aramis put a comforting hand on her elbow. "He's got a small wound in the right shoulder, nothing to be alarmed about, but I didn't have time to dress it," he told her.

Her eyes flickered over to her husband's shoulder and then she looked back to him and nodded in acknowledgement.

When Porthos and Athos came over, Aramis could see tears in Porthos' eyes. Holding his arms out, he embraced him in a tight hug, hoping his brother could feel his sorrow and support.

When they released each other he clasped a hand around the back of Porthos' neck and looked into his eyes. "His last words were of the King, and he was able to go peacefully knowing that _you_ had him." He hoped to provide some solace, knowing that leaving Tréville behind would be weighing heavily on Porthos' mind.

Porthos wrapped his own hand around Aramis' neck and pressed their foreheads together. Taking a deep breath, Porthos then stood straight and they both let their hands fall to their sides.

"Where is the King?" Athos asked.

"With the Queen," Constance told them. She sniffled. "She wants to see us in her rooms."

"Now?"

"As soon as we can. She wants to know what happened."

Aramis couldn't blame her, she had been left completely in the dark and now the Regent was dead. They all looked to Athos, who nodded.

"I'll send a message to the cadets to bring Tréville's body to the garrison."

"The garrison?" Aramis questioned. He was the Regent of France, however brief his reign was, and minister before that.

"He should be among musketeers. At least for the night. In the morning he can be brought to the palace."

In his heart, he knew Athos was right. Tréville had been a musketeer far longer than a politician, but even more than that, the musketeers were his family.

"Sylvie is there, she'll see things over should they return before we do," Constance informed Athos, and his expression softened upon hearing her name.

"Her Majesty sent a physician to wait with us…" Constance added, "d'Artagnan-"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "It can wait. Once I get the uniform off, I don't want to have to put it back on until tomorrow."

Athos conceded. "I'll just get this message off and then we'll go up."

After he walked away, Porthos started to ask d'Artagnan about his injury, and Aramis lightly touched Constance on the arm to get her attention.

"Thank you, for looking after...the King, and seeing him reunited with the Queen."

She leaned in and glanced over to Porthos. "He wanted to keep him at the garrison at first, didn't look like he was going to let the boy out of his sight much less his arms, but when he told me about Tréville...I thought it was safe enough and better for him to go home to his mother."

Aramis agreed. "You made the right decision." He didn't like the idea of his son still being shuffled around and passed from person to person, especially after what happened at Lorraine's camp. He'd been through enough that day.

Athos soon came back, and they set off to see Anne, stopping along the way to tell the physician his services weren't needed right away.

The doors to the antechamber were open when they reached it, as were the ones to the bedroom, through which Aramis could see a set of chairs placed around the end of her bed. She was kneeling at her prie dieu and he saw her arm move to make the sign of the cross before rising to meet them. Her hair was down in a loose plait and she was wearing a light blue robe over her nightgown, and matching slippers. As she came closer he noticed a faint shimmer to her skin and that her hair was damp. The scent of lavender was filling the room and he inhaled it deeply, eager to get rid of the smell of blood that was lingering in his nostrils.

"Tréville?" she asked after they all bowed.

Her eyes settled on him and he shook his head, unable to say it out loud.

Anne closed her eyes and pursed her lips in response, looking as if she was trying to stop the tears that had already formed in her eyes from falling.

Athos stepped forward and held out the folded up treaty. "He did succeed in getting Lorraine to pull back his men and sign a treaty before they were both killed."

She cleared her throat. "Thank you." She took the paper from Athos and then addressed them all. "Please, sit."

Feeling Anne touch his arm lightly, he paused in his step.

"You'll sit with me?"

Looking over to the chairs, Aramis saw Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan each standing in front of one while Constance stood between the last chair and the ottoman at the end of Anne's bed, unsure of where to go. Turning back to Anne, he nodded and waited for her to close the door before following her over to the others.

She took a seat on the ottoman after putting the treaty on the bed."I'm sorry for making you all come here," she began once they all sat down, "but I need to be fully informed of what transpired today before I face the council in the morning. And…" Anne moved her left hand from her lap and placed it over his right hand where it laid on the ottoman. "We want to know what happened to our son."

Aramis looked up from their hands to see Anne holding her chin up, jaw tight, as if bracing for an onslaught for what she just did.

Moving his thumb over her knuckles and grasping her fingers, he raised his chin as well, half expecting for someone to say they should separate, should not refer to the King as such, or at least make some noise of objection, but none came.

He looked to Athos to say something, if not about him and Anne, then about their son, but he only stared at their hands. Instead it was Constance who began recounting the day's events.

"Athos brought him to the garrison and then Sylvie and I took him to an abandoned tavern. Sylvie had set up a bed for him and...I left him alone for not even a minute and, well, he got out."

"'He got out'?" Anne repeated.

"Climbed through a window. A boarded up one too, I still don't know exactly how he got past it."

"But why?"

"He, um, wanted to get to the market stalls," Constance explained. "But we found him right away and brought him to my old house, which is why I then had to go to the garrison to tell Athos where we were…"

"And where I wrongly told you to move him again. I'm so sorry Constance."

Constance tilted her head to the side, a look of sympathy on her face. "We could have easily been found at my house and taken with no one finding out in time."

"So you took him to the church and then the laundry?" Aramis encouraged her to continue, anxious to find out what happened next.

"Yes, and hid him with d'Artagnan." Constance looked over to her husband, who was sitting with a hand wrapped around his injured shoulder.

"Grimaud scared the women, weeded us out down under the floorboards. I tried to fight off his men, but they knocked me out and took the King and I to Lorraine's camp," d'Artagnan told them, his voice hollow. He lifted his gaze from the floor and looked to Porthos to continue from there.

"Tréville…" Porthos began, leaning forward in his chair, "had been negotiating with the Duke, got him to agree to bring his troops back. The Duke was just about to sign when Grimaud came in with the King and a tied up d'Artagnan. Neither liked what they saw. The Duke broke with Grimaud and signed the treaty." Porthos chuckled darkly. "Grimaud really didn't like that. Stabbed the Duke and then all hell broke loose."

Aramis and Anne had each other's hands in vice-like grips by now, imagining their son in this den of lions when they started going for each other's throats, and knowing the worst was yet to come.

"Tréville grabbed the King while I went to the horses, was running towards me when they started firing."

A small gasp escaped Anne's lips and Aramis sucked in a breath of his own at the implication that they had been shooting at Tréville while he still had their son.

"He handed me the King but instead of getting on his horse," Porthos paused, his voice becoming more rough, "he turned around and started firing back so that we could get away safely."

"Only we were too late to save him," said Aramis. "He had taken too many hits. But he held on until he knew the King was safe; a true servant of France till the end."

"And he shall have a burial worthy of his heroism," Anne assured them. "But what of Grimaud and Gaston? What happened to them?"

"Escaped," d'Artagnan answered with an edge to his voice.

"But weakened without the Duke's support," added Porthos.

Anne nodded. "You all should return to the garrison and try to get some sleep. Athos, I'll need you here when I talk to the council. I'll send a messenger. And if any of you need anything, please let me know. I owe you all a debt of gratitude for what you did today."

D'Artagnan, Constance, Porthos, and Athos slowly got to their feet. Aramis went to stand as well, but Anne's hand stayed firmly on top of his.

"A moment?" Anne asked when he looked at her, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Giving a small nod in response, he signaled the others to go on without him. Porthos' gaze lingered on them, but Athos put a hand on his back and guided him out of the room, closing the door behind him.

A second after the door clicked shut, Anne's shoulders dropped and she exhaled deeply. With her head bowed, she sat there with her eyes closed, and he waited for her to speak.

"I was so angry with him," she finally said in a quiet voice. "Acted like a petulant child and all he-" Anne suddenly gasped for air. "All he was trying to do was protect us," she choked out before succumbing to tears.

Immediately taking her into his arms, Aramis began to stroke her hair as she gripped his jacket in her hands. "You were scared for your son, I'm sure he understood that." He prayed to God that Tréville had understood that, for he himself had been annoyed with him for denying his request to see Anne and their son, and then angry with him as well when he realized the real reason he couldn't see them.

"I wanted him to concede the regency to me," she continued, "but not like this. I didn't want to lose him too."

"I know. I know." Aramis soothed her while tears escaped from his own eyes, and rubbed her back until her sobs started to subside.

"Those men," she shuddered. "They shot him while he had a child in his arms. And Grimaud. Gaston. Those vile murderers had our son."

"He's safe now. And he wasn't hurt, right?" He had seen no obvious injuries in the brief moments that he saw him, but he had to be sure.

"No, no, thank God." Anne pulled back, stray tears still sliding down her cheeks. "I noticed a little bruising on one of his knees when I gave him a bath, but I suspect he got it from climbing through that window. He just said he 'bumped it' when I asked."

Aramis pulled out his handkerchief and offered it to her. "Did he say anything about what happened? Does he know about the King?"

"He didn't really say much about what happened," she answered, accepting the cloth and wiping her face with it, "But they were calling him 'Sire' and he heard them referring to him as 'the King' so he figured it out. He quite plainly asked me to confirm it when he returned." She handed his handkerchief back. "He's very clever, you know."

"Takes after his mother."

She gave him a watery smile. "He was pleased to tell me though that Athos made him a musketeer."

"Oh did he?" He'd have to talk to Athos at some point about the time he spent with his son. "Well, the musketeers could use someone with such valor and cleverness. And he has the makings of a fine swordsman from what I've seen."

Her smiled dimmed and her gaze fell. "The King started teaching him as soon as he could hold a rattle. And even Tréville would take the time to practice and play with him."

Aramis smiled softly; he would have liked to see that.

"Tréville loved him, they both did." She swiped at the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "I don't think he fully understands that they're gone, that his Papa won't be here when he wakes up in the morning, that Tréville won't be here to play with him anymore. I didn't want to push him though."

Aramis nodded. "Better to let him rest tonight."

"Would you like to look in on him? Hopefully he'll be asleep by now."

"Can I?"

"I had asked his governess to sit with him while I talked to you all. If I take her out into the hallway to tell her about Tréville, and ask her to stay the night, you'll have some time while she readies herself."

"That should be more than enough time, I won't take long."

A few minutes later Aramis found himself back in the late King's bedroom. He stood with his ear against the door waiting and listening for Anne to go around and come in through another door to the Dauphin's room.

Only one set of the double doors had been closed between the two rooms, so Aramis didn't have much difficulty hearing Anne come in and then a few clacks of the governess' heels as they left the room, the door creaking and clicking shut behind them.

He opened the door a sliver and peeked into the room. Seeing his son asleep in his bed and no one else, he slowly opened the door wider and stepped into the room, making sure to have a hand on the pommel of his sword to steady it as he did.

With his hat in his other hand, he walked past a little chair and desk and was then standing next to the bed where his son lay on his back fast asleep with an arm splayed out next to his head on the pillow. He hoped the excitement and exhaustion of the day left him in a deep, dreamless sleep devoid of nightmares.

Going down on his knees, Aramis set his hat on the bed. He made the sign of the cross and then folded his hands together, lightly resting them on the bed next to his hat, and began to pray. He thanked God for keeping his son, Anne, Constance, Sylvie, and his brothers safe. Then, he thanked Tréville for his sacrifice and extended his gratitude to God for letting him know such an honourable, courageous, and loving man.

As he started to ask God for those same strengths so that he could continue to protect his loved ones and make Tréville proud, he heard the click of the door handle and then a small creak of the hinges.

"It's me," Anne whispered before coming in, though she stayed in the doorway and kept the door slightly ajar. Once Aramis nodded that he understood the governess would be returning in several minutes, she directed her gaze to the hallway.

After finishing his prayer and crossing himself, he stood back up and put a hand on his hat, but hesitated to pick it up. There his son was, right in front of him, safe and sound, but the man he knew as his father is dead and now he is a king, _his_ king.

Leaning forward, Aramis lightly pressed a kiss to his son's hair. Even though Louis would never know him as his father, Aramis promised to always be there for him in any way he could.

He picked up his hat and walked over to Anne. "I'll go now, the cadets should be on their way with Tréville's body; they're bringing him back to the garrison first. Athos will probably bring him here when you send for him."

"Yes, yes, that's fine. The garrison was his home for so long and the musketeers should pay their respects first."

"Thank you...for letting me see him," he said, glancing over his shoulder towards their son.

"Thank you for protecting him, for protecting us."

Taking her hand, he kissed her knuckles. "Try to get some sleep," he told her, and after giving her hand a gentle squeeze, left the way he came, taking one last look at his son before closing the door behind him.

* * *

**Historical background/inspiration: "There are many vignettes of Louis's joy in his mother's company: he would join her in her luxurious marble bath in her Apartment des Bains" - Antonia Fraser, Love and Louis XIV: The Women in the Life of the Sun King**


	10. We Are the Garrison Part I

**A/N: This chapter got quite long (and posting this fic went by way too fast) so I decided to split it into two chapters. Hope you all enjoy this first part.**

* * *

_Are you my new servant, Aramis?_

"Form a circle around the carriage, and get a hold of the horses, make sure they don't bolt, cover their heads if you need to. Brujon, guard the other door," Aramis instructed the cadets and royal guard. The carriage hadn't moved yet with the crowd lining the route and now hurrying away from the cathedral, but it should be far enough away to be out of range for any flying debris or Grimaud should he slip out.

Placing his son inside the carriage, he turned to Anne, "You should be safe here, but be ready to take cover, Grimaud could have contingency plans in place."

Anne nodded, and he helped her into the carriage. Once sitting, she took the crown off Louis' head and placed it next to her before lifting Louis onto her lap and holding him flush against her.

Leaving the door open, Aramis kept his left hand on the bottom of the open window and rested his right foot on the lower step, ready to launch himself on top on them should Athos and d'Artagnan fail to stop the explosion.

He kept his eyes on the cathedral and strained his ears to hear any rumbling, but it was hard to hear anything over the din of the crowd or see past the throngs of people still fleeing the site.

"Mama, I thought we were going inside the church," Aramis heard Louis ask.

He met Anne's wide eyes before she looked down to their son.

"We were, darling, but a bad man went in there and the musketeers have to get him out and make sure he doesn't hurt anyone, so we just have to wait here for a bit."

"Does he want to catch me too?"

"You have nothing to fear, Your Majesty," Aramis cut in before Anne had to answer. "Your mother and I won't let anything happen to you. And the musketeers will keep everyone safe." He nodded in response to Anne's small but grateful smile.

"Aramis!"

Turning his head towards the voice he spotted Sylvie ushering a group of people to safety.

"Sylvie! Let her though," he told the cadets, beckoning her closer.

"Aramis, what's going on?"

"Grimaud was spotted and we suspect he plans on-" he paused, glancing over to his son, he didn't want to frighten him, "_-using_ the remaining gunpowder he stole."

She brought a hand to her lips as they parted slightly at the revelation. "Where's Athos?"

"Inside. With the others." He watched as her hand fell to her stomach. "They're going to stop him," he assured her, putting a comforting hand on her arm. "We're going to end this."

"Sylvie?" Anne asked from inside the carriage.

Aramis stepped back as Sylvie collected herself and turned towards Anne. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Come inside."

"Oh, no, I…" Sylvie trailed off, looking to Aramis.

"Go on, please, it's fine," he encouraged, offering her a hand to get into the carriage. Anne held a hand out as well and after several seconds Sylvie took a deep breath and made her way into the carriage.

"I wish we were meeting under better circumstances," Anne said once Sylvie gingerly sat down on the edge of the opposite bench.

"Your Majesty, you don't have to do this."

"Nonsense, I owe you my thanks for taking care of my son, as well as my apologies for the pain you so wrongly suffered in my name. Besides, a friend of the musketeers is a friend of mine." Anne looked over to Aramis and he nodded in confirmation before resuming his previous position, relieved to know Sylvie and her baby were out of immediate danger. His thoughts briefly turned to Elodie and her daughter, but knowing that they came with Constance, he was sure they would have been among the first to safety. Now all he could do was pray that the others would soon be making their way back to him.

MMMMMMMMMM

"You were very good at the ceremony today," Anne told her son once he was all tucked in for the night. "I'm very proud of you." She gave Louis a small smile and then leaned forward from where she sat on his bed to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Standing up, she went and blew out the remaining candles, and then started heading towards her room. The sight of a small bouquet of flowers on her desk made her pause in her step; they weren't there a half-hour ago when she went to ready Louis for bed, and the servants had finished moving her things into the late King's room hours before that.

She threw one last glance over her shoulder and said good night to Louis before stepping into the room and closing the doors behind her. Could Aramis have snuck in and left her flowers along with his answer? The thought made her blush.

She went over to her desk but saw no note. She picked up the flowers to examine them. They had small light blue petals. Forget-me-nots.

"That was an inspiring speech you gave, Your Majesty."

Anne jumped. Turning in the direction of the voice, her jaw dropped when she saw Milady de Winter standing by the window on the other side of her bed, half-hidden behind the curtain. "H-how did you get in here?"

"It's been a while, but I still know my way around," she answered in that smooth voice of hers as she started walking around the bed. "I like what you've done with the room."

"What are you doing here? What do you want?" The woman had helped her and the musketeers in the past, but she had worked for the Cardinal before that, and who knows who she was working for now. Gaston had Feron, Grimaud, Marcheaux, Lorraine, and a number of nobles working for his cause. Milady could be another name on that list, she realized, and dropped the flowers onto the desk but kept her hand hovering by the nearby candlestick.

"Shortly before his tragic death, Tréville hired me to serve the Crown. I am here to ask if Your Majesty would like to carry on with this agreement."

Tréville? Tréville had hired her? To do what? "What exactly does serving the Crown entail?"

"Spying, blackmailing, smuggling goods and-" Milady's eyes flickered over to meet hers "-people in and out of the palace, and killing."

Anne raised her eyebrows. "You would kill for me?"

Milady gave a slight shrug. "Whatever Your Majesty desires, so long as I am paid."

Anne looked to the side and considered the proposition. If Milady was working for the Crown, for her, then she would have no reason to seek employment with Gaston, and perhaps she could use her to make sure Gaston's threat to her son was dealt with once and for all...

Raising her chin, she addressed the other woman. "I will consider it."

Milady tilted her head in acceptance and placed a folded piece of paper on Anne's desk. "Here is how you can contact me."

MMMMMMMMMM

Anne looked up from her desk as Athos and Aramis entered her room.

"Morning, Captain, how are you?"

"Fine, Majesty. It was a shallow wound."

"And d'Artagnan?"

"Boasting about the length of his new scar," Aramis answered with a grin.

Anne softly chuckled. "You wanted to speak to me?" She clasped her hands together on the desk and tried to stay calm. Aramis was surely here to tell her his decision, but if Athos was with him, did that mean he was going to turn down the position and leave Athos to take it instead?

"Yes, Your Majesty," replied Athos. "I have come to inform you that I am leaving the Musketeers."

She wasn't expecting that. Grimaud had been defeated, but there was a garrison to rebuild, cadets to train. "Leaving? For what reason?"

"I am going to be a father," Athos answered, and she noticed he had the same brightness in his eyes as when he last came to talk to her. She had suspected that something had happened which he wasn't telling her.

"You are? Athos, that's wonderful! With Sylvie, yes? How is she?" The poor woman had so wrongly suffered because of her.

Athos smiled and nodded in confirmation. "She is well and has no intention of slowing down anytime soon. But we plan on moving away from Paris and raising our child out in the country."

"I will be sad to see you go, as I'm sure the others are, but you must do what is best for your family. And you will come and visit, yes? I'd like to see the two of you again, and meet the little one of course."

"I'm sure we will be back, Majesty. I would like to propose a new captain in my absence though."

It dawned on Anne that having sent Porthos to the front, Aramis was the most senior musketeer left. Would he take the captaincy over being first minister?

"And whom do you propose?" she asked, trying to keep her trepidation out of her voice.

"D'Artagnan."

Her heart skipped a beat from a combination of surprise and relief. D'Artagnan was young, but she knew he would be a great captain.

"I know he is young," Athos continued, reading her thoughts, "but I think he has great potential and will do us all proud."

"Indeed, now that you've said it, it seems only natural that d'Artagnan be made captain. A role he was born to play." If d'Artagnan was to be captain though, did that mean Aramis was going to say yes to her? She looked over to him, and unable to wait any longer, asked, "And what part will you play in all this, Aramis?"

Aramis straightened up and put his hands behind his back. "After much consideration and some wise advice from Athos," he began, inclining his head toward his friend before leveling his eyes with hers, "I have also decided to do what is best for _my_ family...and accept your offer."

The worry that he would decline was immediately eradicated as feelings of warmth and joy spread through her, and she could not keep her lips from stretching into a smile. "It means so much to me that you are willing to take this on, Aramis, and I'm sure the King will be delighted to have you here."

"I hope to serve you both well," he said with deep sincerity, and she could hear the faint echo of when he first swore to watch over their son. How long ago that conversation felt now, and how bittersweet compared to the excitement she could feel bubbling in her chest at the moment.

"I have no doubt you will."

"Majesty," said Athos, breaking their locked gazes, "by your leave, I will let you and your First Minister discuss the many matters of state I'm sure you'll want to go over."

"And you must have preparations to make. Farewell, Athos. I wish you luck with your new life."

He smiled softly as his eyes flickered over to Aramis before settling back on her. "As I do you, Your Majesty."

He bowed and took a few steps before Anne called out to him. "Athos!" Rising from her chair, she walked around the desk and enveloped him in a hug. He stood still at first, perhaps taken aback by the gesture, but then she felt his hands settle gently on her back as his arms wrapped around her.

"Thank you, for everything," she told him.

"It has been an honour to serve you."

Anne tightened her arms around him before pulling away.

"Majesty," he said, bowing his head for a final time and then departing.

"Between finding out that Sylvie's with child and Your Majesty showing him such affection, he'll need a week in the country just to recover."

She gave an exasperated shake of her head at Aramis' teasing and looked at the now-empty doorway. "He's a good man, he deserves some peace and happiness."

Aramis nodded in agreement. "He does. I've never seen him smile so much."

Stepping closer to him, Anne became more serious. "I hope you will be happy in your new position too. And if you're not; if being a minister is stifling you and you don't like it, you can go back to being a musketeer or whatever you wish. Please don't stay just because you feel obligated or because I want you here. You deserve to be happy too."

Moving so that he was in between her and the doorway, he took her hands in his. "I can tell you right now that being at your side and being able to watch over our son so closely will make me happier than I ever thought possible."

Anne took a deep breath and tried to keep her growing giddiness under control. "So this is really happening then?"

Aramis gave her one of his half-smiles. "I can hardly believe it myself, but yes, it is."

Anne grinned once more before sighing and withdrawing her hands from his. "And we have work to do." She turned toward her desk. "There is a war to end and Gaston is still out there, though I have recently been offered a solution to the latter problem."

"Really? What's that?"

"Not a what, but a who. Did you know that Tréville hired Milady de Winter to work for the crown before he died?"

"Milady? She's in Paris?" Aramis looked slightly alarmed at the news.

Anne picked up the ledger on her desk and held it up to him. "This was Tréville's. Look at the most recent entry."

He opened it up to show a flower symbol next to a sum of money. "Her calling card."

"She came to me after the blessing to make me aware of the deal they made and to see if I wanted to keep her on."

"Do you? Wait, are you thinking of having her-" Aramis threw a glance over his shoulder before leaning in and continuing in a whisper, "kill Gaston?"

"Yes."

"Majesty…"

She went and closed the main doors before returning to Aramis at the desk. "This is our best chance of eliminating the threat he poses. Everything is so chaotic right now and not everyone knows what is going on. If I send Milady out today, Grimaud and his men could be suspected in having a hand in it. He did kill Lorraine after all. Aramis," she implored him, hoping he would understand why she had to do this. "Gaston has been beaten but he will never give up. You know how heartless he is, you saw him murder those innocent veterans, didn't you? Did he even hesitate? Did he show any remorse?"

Aramis tightened his jaw and shook his head. "I could kill him myself for that alone."

"He's been exiled, he's been imprisoned, and he's even been pardoned and offered wealth and positions, but still he plotted to take the crown by means of force. He was willing to take down his own brother, what about a nephew he barely knows who has decades ahead of him on the throne?" Anne paused to take a breath and then looked back up at Aramis. "Let Milady deal with Gaston. Let her prove her worth."

He ran a hand through his hair. "The payment, the money Tréville already paid her, what was it for?"

"Her loyalty, I suppose. To make sure she wouldn't go and offer her services to anyone else, to Gaston."

Aramis sighed and put his hands on his hips. "Majesty, to kill a prince of the blood, the heir…"

"A man who would see us all dead and France ruined," she stressed. "You said he went into the Dauphin's room the day the King died; do you think he would have taken our son hostage if he had been there, or just killed him on the spot?"

Aramis bowed his head, offering no other counterpoint.

Anne exhaled and the fire in her belly died down with it. "Lorraine is dead, but it wouldn't take long for Gaston to rally another army to bring down the Spanish Queen ruling France."

Nodding, Aramis shifted on his feet and took a deep breath before meeting her eyes. "Summon Milady. This needs to be done quickly."

She gave a nod in return. "I will, but you can't be here when I give the order."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"I don't want you to be held responsible if she is found out."

"But that's why I'm here. I want to help you. I want to share your burdens."

"And you will, but if Milady is caught and she talks, if I'm implicated, you will still be able to take care of Louis."

A low growl emitted from Aramis' throat. He definitely didn't like it, but she knew he would do whatever was best for their son.

"You can't trust her."

"I know, and that's why I don't want her to be able to go to you or d'Artagnan. I won't have her undermining me or getting either of you involved. If she wants to keep this position then I'm the only person she'll have to please."

MMMMMMMMMM

With a note for the royal tailor, Aramis left Anne so that he could be fitted for new clothes befitting his position and so that she could meet with Milady. He wasn't entirely comfortable with what they were about to do, but Anne was right, Gaston would not stop his quest for the throne unless he was dead.

After the fitting, he met up with Athos and Porthos and the three of them went to the tavern for drinks to celebrate Aramis' new position and, to Aramis' delight, Porthos' engagement. D'Artagnan, whilst helping to clean up the garrison, had gotten debris in his still-fresh wound, and had been marched away by Constance so that she could clean it, along with the rest of his face, telling him he could join them later.

"Don't tell him about the captaincy yet, wait until after the wedding," Athos told them. "He'll spend this whole time trying to talk me out of it otherwise."

"I don't know, Athos, I think he'll be struck speechless for once," said Aramis.

"Mhm," Porthos agreed with a slight chuckle. "The face he'll make, what a wonderful wedding present that will be. Thank you, Athos."

"Captain d'Artagnan," Aramis ruminated. "Remember when he first came storming into the garrison, demanding a fight with the greatest swordsman in France?"

"To be fair, I don't think a farm boy from Gascony would know that," Athos said in d'Artagnan's defense. "And he was already quite good."

"Good enough to get you to take him on; pretty much became your apprentice."

"Seems like he was always destined to take your place," Aramis suggested. "God does move in mysterious ways, doesn't He. D'Artagnan will make a great captain." He put a hand on Athos' shoulder. "You taught him well."

"We all did."

"All for one, eh?" Porthos said with a grin.

As they all smiled at each other the young captain-to-be came over to their table.

"Did you get me a drink?" he mumbled, trying not to move his jaw too much and pull at the cut on his cheek.

Once Athos handed one over to d'Artagnan and he took a small sip, Aramis raised his cup. "To Porthos, Elodie, and Marie-Cessete. To the du Vallons."

"And to our new First Minister," Athos added before they all knocked their cups together.

Porthos tilted his cup towards Aramis after taking a hearty swig. "Speaking of God moving in mysterious ways."

"Oh so I'm God now, am I?" Athos quipped, making them all laugh. "All I did was make a suggestion to Her Majesty. It's not really a mystery."

"That is blasphemous, Athos," Aramis chided him, waggling his finger. "Be careful, I have powerful connections to the Church now."

Porthos shook his head. "I'm finally able to boss you around and then you get your own promotion so now you're practically the boss of everyone." He sighed but a smile played at his lips. "You just had to outdo me."

"Just be thankful my new clothes won't be ready in time for the wedding because I would have upstaged you there too; give Elodie second thoughts," Aramis joked back.

"Stop making me laugh," d'Artagnan pleaded as he held his jaw.

Grinning, Aramis took a sip of his drink as they all grew quiet. Turning serious he looked at Porthos. "I will take care of them, Elodie and the baby."

"All of us will," d'Artagnan assured him.

Porthos nodded. "I know you will." He looked over to d'Artagnan. "Constance has already taken them under her wing."

"They'll be a part of the family in no time," said Aramis.


	11. We Are the Garrison Part II

_Faith, that daylight will always follow the dark_

Aramis was just about to finish emptying his bags when he heard a couple of sharp knocks on the office doors.

It was getting late, he hoped it was just a cadet with something he left behind at the garrison and not a messenger with bad news.

When he opened the door, it turned out to be neither; Anne stood in front of him with her hair down, wearing a robe and a look of uncertainty.

"Majesty, is something the matter?" He opened the door wider to let her in.

"No, I just thought I'd see how you were settling in."

"Oh, yes, fine. The rooms are...spacious."

"Good." She wrung her hands as she looked around.

"Do you want a drink?" he offered, pointing to the decanter of wine. She was going to present him to the council in the morning and perhaps she was feeling nervous.

She hesitated before nodding her head and sitting down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Thanking him when he handed her a glass, she immediately brought it to her lips. After taking a sip, she placed the glass on the desk. "I also thought I should tell you more about the council members, so that you know what they're like."

Pouring a glass for himself, he sat down in the chair next to hers and listened as she went down an imaginary table and described each member, not only telling Aramis each man's position and duties, but what family he came from, what family he married into, his favourite pastimes, and any other details she knew.

Aramis was impressed. He knew who the men were, and he wasn't surprised to hear some of them had mistresses or gambling habits, but he didn't know the details or what close ties many of them had to certain trades or people, including the late king.

"Majesty, I never took you for a gossip," he commented once she finished.

A faint blush appeared on her cheeks, though he wasn't sure if the wine had something to do with it. "I may not partake in it, but that doesn't mean I don't listen to it," she replied.

Standing up, he went to refill their glasses. "And what will the council be saying about me?"

"They won't like that you're not a noble and you've never held a political position before. They gave Tréville a hard time at first because of his lack of experience in politics, but if they agreed with my husband that it would be safer to appoint a soldier as regent while we're at war, then they shouldn't object to having one of Tréville's best musketeers as First Minister."

"He also came from a respectable family though," he countered, handing Anne her glass back.

"He did, but it was his honesty and loyalty, his hard work and common sense that they came to respect. You'll win them over too," she said, her faith in him making his heart swell. He promised himself that he would do whatever it took to prove her right.

She took a sip. "Aramis, tell me about your family," she prompted, leaning back against the chair. "I know about Isabelle and that your parents wanted you to become a priest but other than that I don't know anything about your past or where you came from. Or who taught you Spanish for that matter. René Aramis sounds like a French name, did your mother have Spanish blood?"

"You know my name? My Christian name?" He never used it since moving to Paris.

"Of course, after you saved me at the Chatelet I asked Tréville about you. He told me your name and a little about your character, but nothing about your background."

Aramis shifted in his chair, wondering what he should tell her, and then he thought of Pauline and what he had said to her. Why build a wall of lies between you and those you love? And if it made Anne think differently of him, if it made her change her mind about appointing him, about wanting him here, then better now than later.

He took a large gulp of wine and then a deep breath before placing the glass on the desk. "I was named after a woman called Renee Desjardins. She ran the brothel that I was born in."

Pausing, he glanced over to Anne. She looked puzzled, but she said nothing, so he settled his gaze to a spot on his desk and recounted the story of how his parents met a few years after his mother's family moved to France from Spain, and then how his mother had to leave to look for work and a place to live. His mother was exceptional with a needle and thread, and had managed to find some work here and there in the beginning, but it was not enough to live off of, and no seamstress would take on an unwed expectant mother as an apprentice, and a Spanish one at that, even though her family had been living in France since she was four. She eventually found work at Madame Desjardins' brothel, striking a deal that she would mend and make clothes for those who worked there, and once her baby was born, she would sell her body as well.

Leonora had hoped Hugo would come for her before then, but he never did, and so she named her baby for the woman who gave them a home, and submitted to her new life.

"My mother had been using 'Aramis' - after the village she came from, Aramits- instead of her Spanish family name, so Madame Desjardins started calling me that rather than René, as honoured as she supposedly was, and it caught on. I'm quite thankful she did though, because then my mother was the only person who called me René and it was something special between us, unless I was in trouble that is." His eyes flickered over to see Anne smiling faintly at him and then he continued to tell her how his father eventually found the letter and then them, taking Aramis to live with his family. He then took on his father's name, d'Herblay, but after what happened with Isabelle, after learning that his mother's death had been kept from him for years, he cast it aside when he came to Paris and enlisted, and gave Aramis as his family name.

He turned his head towards Anne once he finished, but she only stared at the floor. Her silence was starting to make him worry now though, so he decided to put them both out of their misery.

"I understand if you no longer want me to take the position."

Her eyes snapped up to meet his. "Because of your mother? Because of where you were born?"

He nodded.

"Aramis," she said, straightening up in her chair, "I said that any man can rise if his talents merit it. Why wouldn't that apply to you?"

"Because I wasn't just born a bastard, I was raised in 'a den of sin.'"

Anne looked down into her near-empty glass. "When I realized I was pregnant with our son...thinking about what would happen if I told the truth or lied and was found out...I always knew that I could go to my family for help, that I wouldn't be thrown out onto the street and left to fend for myself and _my_ bastard child. Even if they hid me away in a convent my family would see me taken care of." Her eyes met his and she held his gaze. "Your mother didn't have that. She did what she had to do to take care of you, and I hope to be even half as strong a woman as she was."

He turned more towards her. "You are. Just as strong. And I would have taken care of you."

"If you managed to evade arrest and the noose." She placed her own glass on the desk and put her hand on his where it rested on the arm of the chair. "Aramis...René…" She stared into his eyes, imploring him to listen. "You are a good, kind, strong, and intelligent man. You're more noble than half the men in the nobility, and you are so much more than your past. You are here today because of it, in spite of it, and it does not make me think any less of you."

He averted his gaze from hers, and inhaled deeply, feeling overwhelmed. He didn't know what to say.

Taking her hand away, Anne stood up and took both their glasses. She refilled them and then handed his back. "Tell me about her." She sat down. "What was she like? What sort of trouble would you get into that would have her calling little René over for a stern talking to?"

With a wavering smile, he began telling Anne about his mother and stories from his childhood. As he went on, Anne would sometimes tell her own story about her parents or the antics she and her siblings got up to as children. They laughed and drank well into the night until their glasses were once again empty and their laughter died down.

"I think she'd be so proud of you," Anne suddenly said. "Minister Aramis."

He smiled softly to himself. He wished she could have been here to see him, to meet Anne, to meet their son. "Let me show you something," he said, standing up and setting his glass on the desk. "I'll be just a moment."

Walking through the doors connecting the office to his new bedroom, he started digging through his wardrobe. Naturally, the thing he was looking for was the first thing he put in and was therefore buried in the back.

Finally reaching it, he pulled out the small package. Laying it on the bed, he undid the string tied around it, and pulled back the wrapping to reveal his baby blanket.

Taking it into his hands, he sat down on the bed and unfolded it, rubbing his fingers against the softness of the fabric as he did. He held it up in front of him, and his eyes followed the embroidery that lined the border and filled the corners. Bringing it back into his lap, his fingers traced over the stitches, over his mother's work.

He sighed in relief at how Anne took in the knowledge of his origins. He knew her to be kind and understanding, that if she truly cared for him it shouldn't change anything. But when faced with it, he worried that it would be too much for her, that it would cross a line.

To have her admire his mother, to tell him it didn't matter where he came from, it meant a lot to him. Now, with Anne, he could talk freely about his mother, his father, his brothers and sisters, his childhood, and how it all shaped who he is.

Picking up a corner of the blanket, he examined the neat little stitches and smiled softly to himself. His mother had taught him how to sew. _Stitches fine enough for the Queen's chemise._

Standing up, he made his way back to Anne to show her the blanket. Rounding the corner though, he found her with her head lolled to the side and her eyes closed. His heart stopped for a moment, fearing the worst, but once he knelt in front of her, he watched the rise and fall of her chest, and chuckled at the realization that she had simply fallen asleep. They had been talking for some time, and drinking quite a lot too.

She should go back to her rooms though.

"Majesty?"

Getting no response, he touched her hand. "Majesty, wake up."

Still nothing. Standing up, he ran a hand through his hair. The past several days had been chaotic and she was surely exhausted, perhaps he should just let her sleep a little, he had a few more things to look over before he went to bed anyway.

Nodding to himself, he placed the blanket on the desk, then bent over and lifted her out of the chair, cradling her against his chest. If it woke her up, it woke her up, but if he was going to let her sleep, he should really move her to the bed.

He knocked into her chair as he tried to step around it, causing the legs to scrape loudly against the floor. He paused in his step as Anne mumbled something incomprehensible, but when her face relaxed into a serene smile, he continued on into the bedroom. After gently laying her down and clearing away the wrapping he had left from his baby blanket, he pulled the duvet over her and returned to his desk to read over Tréville's notes in preparation for the council meeting.

Sitting down behind the desk, he drew the papers in front of him and took note of the height of the shorter of the candlesticks on the desk, telling himself that if Anne doesn't wake by the time that one goes out, he'll go and put more effort into waking her.

A little less than an hour of reading later, he could feel his eyelids getting heavy. He glanced over to the candle, it was almost out. One more report then. He grabbed one and leaned back in his chair.

Halfway through the report he forgot what it was talking about. Blinking, he went back to the top and started rereading the first few sentences...and then he closed his eyes for a few seconds and read them again..and then...

He heard a faint voice call his name and then he felt a hand on his arm. He opened his eyes to see Anne standing in front of him.

"You're a much lighter sleeper than I am apparently."

He straightened up, putting a hand behind his stiff neck as he did. "Soldiers must be ready at a moment's notice, Majesty."

"You shouldn't have let me push you out of your bed," she told him, looking pointedly at the chair.

"I've slept in worse places."

She looked at him from under her lashes. "You also could have joined me."

His mouth opened but it took a couple seconds for any words to come out. "I-"

Before he could come up with a response, she cut him off. "Aramis, do you still...want me?"

He could not stop the incredulous look from crossing his face. Rising slowly, he lightly shook his head as he stared down into her eyes. "I never stopped."

He caught the sharp intake of breath before her eyes flickered down to his lips and then back to his eyes. "Then show me," she whispered.

He didn't waste another second. He cupped her face with his hands and kissed her, squeezing his eyes shut as he did and savoring the feel of her soft lips once again after so many years.

Pulling away, he watched as she opened her own eyes and then how her whole face lit up, her lips stretching into the brightest smile before she stepped back into him and started kissing him fervently, their teeth clanking together once or twice as they smiled in between kisses.

One of her hands tangled into his hair while the other clutched at the back of his shirt, and as she pulled him closer, his arms tightened around her and he groaned at the feel of her body pressed against him.

With a whimper Anne brought her hands down to pull his shirt out of his trousers and then splay her hands on his chest, his abdomen, his back. Her hands left trails of fire across his body in their wake, but he wanted more, he wanted to be consumed be her.

Breaking apart, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. Rejoining their lips, he started to untie her robe while she went to undo his buckle. After he pushed the robe off her shoulders, she went to undo the buttons on his trousers.

"Wait," he whispered, stopping her hands. He rested his forehead against hers as they both caught their breath. "Wait here."

With a beseeching kiss he tore himself away from her and went to lock the doors to his office before they went any further. He could feel his blood rushing, well, everywhere, and his ability to think straight was leaving with it.

Turning around, he undid the buttons on his trousers as he walked back to Anne. While she stepped around the desk, he closed the distance between them and then swept her up in his arms.

"Oh!" Anne said, bracing a hand on his chest.

Grinning, he nuzzled his nose against hers. "May I try this again?"

"Going to get it right this time?" she teased, lightly nipping at his lips.

"I promise you won't be disappointed."

Carrying her into the bedroom, he laid her back down on the bed, and this time, he joined her.

MMMMMMMMMM

She woke up curled against him, his hand running up and down her bare back. Smiling into his side, she opened her eyes and saw Aramis looking down on her, a look of sublime contentment on his face.

"Good morning."

"Am I dreaming?"

He chuckled softly. "I asked myself the same thing when I first woke. It's just after dawn, do you need to get back to your bed soon?"

"No, I have a few hours," she answered, moving her hand under her chin and lightly scratching at his chest with her nails. "Unless you want me to leave," she added with a raise of her eyebrows.

"Oh no." Smirking, he turned her over so that he was on top of her. "I've got you," he whispered into her ear before kissing her neck. Pulling the sheet over his head he then placed a kiss between her breasts. "Right." He kissed her belly. "Where." Just below her navel. "I." Then his hands were wrapping around her knees. "Want." A kiss on the inside of her right thigh. "You." And after placing a kiss on the inside of her left thigh, she felt him breathe out her name, "Ana."

MMMMMMMMMM

Once the council meeting ended, Anne met Aramis' eyes briefly and then left the room, thankful that it went as well as it did. She was also thankful that she didn't have her ladies waiting outside, for she was headed in the direction of Aramis' chambers.

She reached his office and began pacing while she waited for him. The other ministers were probably giving additional or more informal comments to him now that she wasn't there. She hoped that he would want to discuss the meeting with her though and wouldn't get too wrapped up in conversation, or bring any of them back to his office for that matter.

She stopped her pacing and soon heard footsteps approaching. One pair, it sounded like, and no conversation going on either.

When Aramis entered the room, alone, she let out the breath she was holding.

He didn't look surprised at all to see her there. "Well that wasn't so bad," he stated after closing the doors.

"We caught them off guard; they weren't expecting me to choose you." She stepped closer to him. "Or for you to look so dashing in your ministerial garb. I think they were as distracted by your handsomeness as I was."

She had nearly stopped in her tracks when she walked into the room and saw Aramis in his new uniform. The coat he wore was especially beautiful. It was the most brilliant shade of blue, with intricate patterns along the sleeves and sides in darker shades and then bronze embroidery throughout. It also hung open, revealing a gleaming white shirt underneath on which his Minister of War medal rested upon. His trousers and boots were a very dark brown, almost black, and it all gave him such a regal appearance, and bearing, she thought.

"You like it then?" he teased.

"Mmm," she hummed. "Though I wish you had shown me beforehand. It took me the whole first half of the meeting to regain control of my thoughts." She hoped the other ministers wouldn't think too much of the way she trailed off and then blushed after being so enthralled by his appearance. They accepted having the two of them in such high positions of power, but she feared they were standing on thin ice with some of the ministers.

"My apologies, Majesty." He put his left hand over his heart and she noticed the ring on his fourth finger. It was the ring Tréville had used to signify his position of First Minister.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Did you want to wear the ring on that finger?" she asked, looking pointedly at his hand. "If it's not the right size it can be adjusted"

"No, I very much like it there I," he looked up from the ring to stare into her eyes, "like to think it symbolizes my lifelong love and commitment...to France." He cocked his head to the side and shifted on his feet. "If she'll have me."

"Aramis, are you..."

"I love you, Ana," he told her in a rush, before she could say anything else, and then he took both of her hands in his. "I didn't take this position just to help you and France, or just to watch over my son. I took it so that I could be with you too." He took a breath. "I know we can't marry and jeopardize Louis' legitimacy, and I know I've no right to even ask for a queen's hand to begin with, but I don't want you to have any doubt about my feelings for you. If I could ask you to marry me, I would."

She was stunned. She opened her mouth but it took several seconds for her to form a sentence. "A-and I would say yes - I do say yes. I pledge myself to you and will be your wife in all but law and holy sacrament." Bringing her hand up, she cupped the side of his face and traced her thumb along the scar on his cheek. "I am yours."

He turned his head slightly to kiss her palm. "And I'm yours."

"I love you." She grinned upon finally telling him, finally saying it out loud. It made her feel giddy. "I love you, Aramis," she repeated, wanting to speak it into existence again.

Raising herself up onto her toes, she kissed him. And while she wound her arms around his neck, she could feel his hands on her waist.

It was a kiss to mark their union, and when they separated they exchanged I love you's again before Anne settled her head in the crook of his shoulder. Then, with their arms wrapped around each other, they stood there for a long while after, just holding each other close.

MMMMMMMMMM

After some time, Anne had pulled away from his embrace and encouraged him to go to the garrison to tell Constance and d'Artagnan how the meeting went and to see how the clean-up was progressing. The request had confused him at first, making him wonder why she would want to send him away after accepting what amounted to a marriage proposal, but he had also seen the kind of spark in her eyes that usually meant she was up to something and so he had acquiesced, feeling that he would have his own surprise in store for him when he returned.

And he was right, though he wasn't wholly prepared for what she had planned.

When he returned he was told the Queen Regent wanted to see him and that she would meet him in the gardens by the cascading fountain. Going out there, he caught no sight of her, and stood there by himself for a few minutes watching the gardeners until he heard a child giggling.

Coming around the corner of the hedges, his son appeared, closely followed by his governess, her hands outstretched, looking like she was threatening to tickle him. Aramis' breath caught in his throat as he noticed the tiny pauldron on his son's shoulder. A musketeer's pauldron.

Little Louis was so focused on not being caught that he was only a few feet away when he stopped running in order to stare up at him.

Aramis bowed. "Hello, Your Majesty." He stepped closer and put a hand on his chest. "I'm Aramis, we met the other day. I carried you to your carriage, do you remember?"

Louis' mouth formed an "O" and he nodded his head in recognition, but then he looked him up and down before focusing his gaze on Aramis' right shoulder. He pouted in confusion. "Where's your pauldron? Musketeers wear pauldrons, like this." He pointed proudly to the one on his shoulder.

He gave his son a bemused smile. "They do, but your mother has given me a new job." Kneeling down, he held up the medal for Louis to see. "I get to wear this now."

Louis took the medal into his hands to examine it. "Is this Tréville's medal?"

Aramis lowered his eyes as a wave of sadness washed over him. "Yes, this was his. I'm going to be living here and doing his job now." He hoped to do it as well as Tréville did, and finish what he started.

He looked down at his new clothes. He had very much liked them from the moment he put them on. The coat was an especially fine piece of workmanship. It was lighter and moved more freely than his leather musketeer doublets with all their buttons and buckles, but it still had a weight to it, enough to remind him of the new position, the new responsibilities he had. And wearing Tréville's medal and ring added to that weight. He had a job to do, and big shoes to fill.

"You're not a musketeer anymore?" Louis asked, sounding disappointed.

Aramis smiled to himself, remembering his conversation with Athos. "I'll always be a musketeer-" he touched a hand to his heart "-in here." He smiled warmly at Louis. "Though I must say, I quite like your pauldron, Your Majesty, it looks very fine."

"I got new clothes too," Louis informed him, looking down at himself.

And then Aramis took the time to actually look at what his son was wearing. The boots he'd seen before, the trousers were just trousers, but the little doublet…the doublet was cut like his. Thinking back to when he went to get measured for his new uniform, there was a moment when they took his old doublet away. He had thought little of it, but now he realized they must have taken it in order to copy the design. He didn't know exactly what was in the note Anne had written for the tailor either since she had folded the note before putting her seal on it. She must have told them to make a musketeer uniform for Louis based on his. He even wore his sash on the same side.

Aramis swallowed back the lump that had formed in his throat. "So you're a musketeer now."

Louis held his chin up the way Anne does when she wants to seem taller and more imposing. "The Captain made me one."

He bit back a smile as his eyes started to well up. Here his son was, right in front of him, looking like a musketeer, like him.

"Can you still play musketeers with me?" Louis asked.

"I have to go and talk to your mother, but I promise another time I will, and when you and I both have our swords. Besides, I think your governess wants to play." He inclined his head over to the governess kindly standing a few feet away. "How about this," he said in a low voice, calling Louis' attention back to him. He leaned closer and whispered in his ear. "If I distract her, you can sneak up on her, yes?"

Louis grinned and nodded his head vigorously.

"Right then," he said, standing up. "Good day, madame," he called over. "I think it's going to rain."

"Do you?" She glanced up at the sky and then back at him.

Aramis pointed up. "Yes, don't you see...there was this large dark cloud before…" He looked all around and out of the corner of his eye saw her doing the same until…

"Oh!"

Aramis looked down to see Louis partially standing behind his governess, giggling.

The governess looked at Aramis, realizing that she had been played. Aramis smiled and shrugged in response, and watched as she turned back to Louis.

"I'm going to get you for that, Sire."

Aramis chuckled softly as Louis ran from her, trying to lose her in the small, perfectly trimmed-down bushes. His smile fell though as he thought about the distance he would have to keep between them. Louis could never know that his father was a musketeer. It made Aramis' heart swell to see him so proud to be one, and broke it at the same time.

Before his emotions got the better of him, he turned away and started walking towards the stairs on the side of the fountain. When he came around the corner, he froze at the sight before him: Anne was there on the steps, smiling demurely at him and wearing the most beautiful white and cream gown.

She had stunned him at their son's birthday party, looking immaculate all dressed in white, but here, here she looked like an angel come down from Heaven. She shone like the Sun itself and he found himself drawn to her light like a moth to the flame.

He was speechless as they closed the distance between them, and all he could do was stare at her as she placed a hand on his chest and then her lips on his. It woke him from his daze and he started to kiss her back while her left hand began threading through his hair and her right hand fell to his side to take a hold of his jacket. His right hand went to rest on the small of her back and as the kiss deepened, he brought his other hand up from her waist to thread into her own hair as well, his fingers caressing her neck while his thumb glided along her jaw.

After one more long kiss, they separated, but Anne kept her forehead pressed against his, and he kept his nose pressed against hers as they breathed each other's air. The hand in his hair slid down to his shoulder and his left hand gently grasped her elbow before he finally opened his eyes and pulled away. As much as he wanted this to continue, he could still hear their son laughing nearby.

"I see I'm not the only one with new clothes," he said, still breathing hard.

Anne brought her hand further down to brush her knuckles against his shirt. "Yes, well, after this morning I thought I'd see if the alterations and finishing touches were done on my other orders."

"So you could give me a taste of my own medicine?" She had chided him earlier for not showing her his new uniform before their meeting, and he had apologized, but it had admittedly pleased him to see her become so flustered at the sight of him. And he was sure she was feeling very pleased with herself now.

"Perhaps," she answered with a small smirk. "How did it taste?"

"Delicious," he answered. "Though I think I'll need another dose before bed."

"That can be arranged."

Before their flirting could continue, they heard a shriek and more giggling.

Aramis raised his eyebrows. "That sounded like a narrow escape." He smiled. "I got to talk to him, told him about the different position and that I'll be living here."

"Yes, I saw you with him," she pointed her eyes towards the top of the fountain. "What did he think?"

"He, um, very much disapproved of my no longer being a musketeer," Aramis began, "but came round once I assured him that I could still play musketeers with him."

Anne chuckled softly. Her gaze fell to the side briefly before coming back to him. "Did you see what he was wearing, I mean really see?"

He nodded, leaning his back against the stone. "I'll admit it nearly made me cry."

"Did it?" She smiled. "I had to tell the two of them to go ahead as I had started to tear up."

"Was it wise to copy my uniform like that though?"

"He wanted one," she simply replied. "And you were going to the tailor anyway."

"And this?" He looked up and down at her gown.

"Is a fresh start," she told him and then walked down the last couple of steps. Looking over her shoulder she gave him a coquettish smile before turning the corner.

Following her, he walked over to where Anne now stood in front of the fountain, watching their son hide behind gardeners and palace guards to avoid his pursuing governess.

"Do you know what the name 'René' means?" he asked once he was standing next to her.

She looked over to him, eyebrows slightly pinched in curiosity.

"Reborn," he answered.

Smiling, Anne looked back over to their son. "A new beginning."

* * *

**Historical background/inspiration:**

**-I'm sure many of you already know that in the books, Aramis is an alias for Rene d'Herblay, and that the character is based on a man named Henri d'Aramitz, with Aramitz being the name of a commune in France near the Spanish border. As the show did with changing his background, I played around with his names (and those of his parents) to reflect his story.**

**-Around the time when Anne was suspected of conspiring with Gaston to depose Louis (before they had their first son), she "lived in constant fear of being repudiated and sent back to Spain and that she took comfort only from the hope that her brother Philip would let her govern the Spanish Netherlands when her aunt, the regent in Brussels, came to die. But she [Anne] cannot have believed altogether in such a prospect, for at the same time she seems to have convinced herself that her family connections would keep her safe" -Ruth Kleinman, _Anne of Austria_**

**A/N: A big THANK YOU for reading and to all those who followed, favorited, and left reviews, especially my guest reviewer, Happenstance; I very much agree with your thoughts and wish I could have given you more detailed replies.**

**I do have another part of this series in the works which will go beyond season 3, but it's in bits and pieces, and though I have beginning, middle, and end scenes, I've no idea how long it will take to connect them and finish the whole thing (and I don't start posting a fic until about 95% of it is done). **

**The good news is that I have a small, probably two-part fic, separate from this series, that I hope to finish and post towards the end of the year, so keep an eye out for that :)**


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